


shown in this shaking (you are unbreaking)

by tousled



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cinderella AU, Cinderella!Ruff, Cinderella!Tuff, F/M, Knight!Astrid, POV Third Person Limited, Slow Burn, The Thorston Family is Horrible, prince!hiccup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tousled/pseuds/tousled
Summary: “I’ll work something out,” Tuff promises, “the others will want dresses, I might be able to put something together from the scraps.”“This is a silly dream,” Ruff says, but she tucks the letter away carefully, hiding it in her own lock box under the floorboards. “Good night Tuff.” She adds and Tuff smiles.“Good night Ruff.” He replies but doesn’t fall asleep for a long time, thinking about the spare bits of thread and fabric he might be able to squirrel away; of a way to make different colours of fabric blend together.Once upon a time, Tuffnut dared to dream.
Relationships: Astrid Hofferson/Tuffnut Thorston, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	shown in this shaking (you are unbreaking)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soligenas](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=soligenas).



> For Sage. Whenever I write something soft and magical, I think of you. And, also because Cinderella (Lily James) reminds me of you. 
> 
> The title is from Wasteland, Baby by Hoizer. Florence and the Machine just released Light of Love on the 17th April and oh my god, it's perfect too and if I wasn't already attached to the title I would have called it "don't go blindly into the dark". I would also like to give Hoizer's cover of Cosmic Love a shout out too. 
> 
> Thanks to sage, rose and maedarakat for being cheerleaders when I wrote this. It was so nice to have you saying kind things when I sent you screen shots. I hope you're still as invested in Ruff's Ball Dress as I am. 
> 
> This was the “author’s choice” card on my bingo sheet for the 2020 HTTYD Rare Pair Bingo Quarantine Edition. 
> 
> I wrote this in 8 days around work and an injury, and I've done some editing but it's so long I imagine I've missed stuff. Please let me know if you see any errors or typos. I made so many typos. I would love to talk about this too, please feel free to comment and ask me about headcanons, or ideas, or things that happen off screen. This is my first time writing a HTTYD fic that's not third person Astrid limited, and I felt like I struggled with it. It was an exciting challenge. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing.

It is only due to the boy in the markets, tongue loose as he tries to talk Tuff into some kind of under ripe apple that he finds out about the Prince’s Ball. Gustav goes on, boasting about how he and his mother and his many, many brothers and cousins are catering the event, but Tuff stands stock still, a bunch of leeks in hand. Ruff and Gruffnut have gone on ahead, Ruff glancing back with a wink that Tuff doesn’t return. 

“And  _ every  _ maiden in the land is getting an invitation?” Tuff asks, grip tight on his basket. 

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, my sister got one and she’s no looker. Prince Hiccup must be desperate.” Gustav shrugs. “It’s gonna be a real big feast. We’ve gotta get some of this produce shifted, so it’s a steal right now.” 

“So Ruff will get one?” Tuff breaths and Gustav shrugs again. He used to flirt with Ruff, his baby face and one struggling chest hair that he started not wearing a shirt not appealing in the slightest. She didn’t even notice. Tuff threatened to scramble his brains anyway. 

“You gonna buy the apples?” Gustav asks. Tuff pays too much for them and his aunt threatens to lock him in the cupboard for it, talon-like nails pressing into his arm. But, as he bites his lip, not looking at the cupboard as he passes, trying to keep the terror down, it’s worth it to know there’s a  _ chance  _ Ruff can leave. 

  
  


**** 

The story begins like this: once upon a time there was a kind woman with a hair of gold and a heart to match and she gave birth to two children, twins, a perfect set. They were whole and hale, and the woman loved them with her entire golden heart. Their father was cranky, mean and boresome. He never did anything to help with the house, or the family, the golden hearted woman did everything; cleaning and cooking and food gathering, repairing the house and the toys, giving the twins the love they deserved. And then one day, the woman never came home from the markets. The unkind father did not want for the trouble of children, did not care for much more than sitting in his chair and drinking. 

He does not remarry, barely out of the house to attract even a mosquito of a woman to drain the life out of the twins. But, he cannot sit in front of a fire when he does not have the money or will, or anger to scare children into doing it for him, for firewood so he moves into his family’s old home. There are aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents, and it is no better for the twins, more relatives to stand over them and expect chores and skinned knees. 

But it really begins like this: Tuff jams fabric into his aunt’s door lock to get to the mail first, tucking a letter addressed to his sister into his shirt and scampers back just in time for no one to know what he did. It burns in his pocket as his cousins squeal over their invitations, gushing about how their gowns will look, how Prince Hiccup will see them and fall instantly, completely in love with them. It burns at Ruff’s quiet acceptance that every girl in the land except her got invited to the Ball, that even Gruffnut, who’s infamous travels are full of lies and half truths and visits to the tavern, got invited. It burns until it’s late, just the two of them in their boxy little attic room, no candle light because their allowance only paid for two candles a month, until Tuff pulls the letter out. 

“I didn’t want them to get their hands on it.” Tuff says. When Ruff takes it, she punches him hard enough to leave a bruise. He rubs his shoulder, stepping back to sit on his own bed. 

“I can’t believe you had this  _ all _ day.” Ruff grumbles, but the paper is fancy and it’s wax sealed with the Haddock crest and she opens it like it’s covered in gold. There is just enough moonlight to make the walnut ink brown on shimmering paper. The penmanship is beautiful, looped and careful and it’s only because Gustav’s mum took pity on the both of them, five years old, asking what the signs on her fruit cart said that they can even read it. 

They had to babysit Gustav in return, enough children in the Thorston manor that a baby wasn’t completely unheard of. He had thought he had two houses until he was five, and Ruff still teases him about it, Gustav Thorston, which, considering might have been at least part of the source of his crush on her. 

“I can’t  _ believe.”  _ Ruff breathes. She holds the letter to her chest for a month, smile big until it stutters and she drops her hands, looking away. “I can’t go.” 

“What.” Tuff says. “You  _ have  _ to, the Prince will fall in love with you and then you’ll be free from this place.” 

“We’ll be free.” Ruff replies, fierce. She grips Tuff’s hand across the space between their two beds, fingers too tight. “But, I have nothing to wear.

“We could save our allowances,” Tuff suggests, but he knows it will not buy a large enough burlap sack to wear, let alone finery that will let them inside the palace. And in his hidden lock box there’s only pretty shells and a cracked magpie’s egg and a pearl button that’s probably only worth another button. It was their mother’s, an identical one in Ruff’s possession, and they will not sell them for the world. 

“We could save for a lifetime on their allowances and not be able to buy a nice handkerchief.” Ruff replies, half way between being kind and snapping. Tuff lays down in bed, curled up on his side to look 

“I’ll work something out,” Tuff promises, “the others will want dresses, I might be able to put something together from the scraps.” 

“This is a silly dream,” Ruff says, but she tucks the letter away carefully, hiding it in her own lock box under the floorboards. “Good night Tuff.” She adds and Tuff smiles. 

“Good night Ruff.” He replies but doesn’t fall asleep for a long time, thinking about the spare bits of thread and fabric he might be able to squirrel away; of a way to make different colours of fabric blend together. 

  
  


**** 

Tuff learnt to sew by necessity, holes in the twins' clothes that needed patching, sleeves and legs too short but their family wouldn’t buy them more. He spent endless nights, curled up next to the stain glass window in the attic, pricking his fingers with a too big leather working needle he swiped when he had to bring the old Thorston workhorse in for shoes. Eventually, his big unruly stitches that got laughed at became neater and neater, and Ruff scrapes together dropped pennies to buy him a thimble and now he scavenges material and sews things nice enough that the rest of the Thorstons have cottoned on. 

Sometimes, he thinks he can remember being curled up his mother’s lap as she sewed. The chair gently rocking in front of the fire, delicate white work for rich Ladies’ handkerchiefs and bright little flower gardens for the hems of girl’s dresses and baby’s bibs. Ruff doesn’t remember it, but Tuff’s sure there was thread as fine as hair and as bright as the silver on the tops of the palace gates. Sometimes, as he’s patching his already patched tunic he thinks maybe, just maybe, wherever his mother is she is smiling down on him, feeling the connection too. 

He makes nice tunics for Gruffnut’s stunts telling tall tales at the tavern, pleated folds in a trouser pattern Tuff got from a passing sailor making Gruffnut look like he truly went to lands far away, instead of a mushroom trip in the forest. He sews pretty hem work for many of his cousins; hearts and French knots for Fluffnut, flowers and leaves and little posies for Saffnut, skulls and bones on sleeves for Druffnut. He pleats and folds, measures and cuts, and makes just about every single piece of clothing for the family, alongside his other chores. It’s just his  _ job _ , and he spends three days picking out spare bits of thread no one will notice is missing to tie together to make something for Ruff when he gets told the girls are all going to a seamstress for  _ proper  _ dresses. 

“What you  _ mean  _ you’re going to a seamstress?” Tuff demands, voice shrill and too worried about how to get pieces of fabric for Ruff’s dress he doesn’t soften himself. Druffnut shoves him, and ugly sneer on her face and Tuff trips backwards with the movement, missing the steps’ handrail and landing on the slate. 

“Do you think _your_ sewing is prince worthy?” Fluffnut asks, her nose turned. “Besides, how are _you_ supposed to make a mask? It is a masquerade after all.” 

“You have other chores to do too,” Saffnut adds, although not completely unkindly. She is the nicest of the cousins, but she looks unconcerned as Tuff touches his tender cheek. 

“Don’t be so rude, girls,” their mother says. In all the ways the twins’ father is dour and beer-bellied from all the sitting and drinking, Aunt Huffnut is not. She is all angles and bones, severe lines. “The poor boy is probably just jealous of Gruffnut. He can help, if he wants.” 

“I’m not jealous,” Tuffnut starts, although he is very jealous of Gruffnut’s freedom and ability to stop a whole tavern to tell a story. Druffnut looks at him, disgusted, so he changes track. “I would really like to help, if I can. You all deserve the most beautiful dresses in the world, and if the seamstress is overwhelmed with work I can help.” 

“See, the dear thing wants to make sure one of you captures the prince’s heart.” Aunt Huffnut says, sickly sweet. Tuff nods, smiling as disarmingly as he can. “Get up boy. We’re going now. Keep quiet and only offer your services when needed. You’ll finish the chores you miss out on tonight, after dinner.” 

Tuff is quiet as the girls chatter, helping them up into the Thorston’s carriage, fetching another pillow when Fluffnut complains about how hard the carriage seat is. He pats the horses and sits up front with the driver, quiet even when the driver looks at him curiously. The partition is open, and Tuff can hear each word about the extravagant dresses the girls want and he’s too scared to voice hope for making Ruffnut something too. 

It is maybe ten minutes, perhaps closer to fifteen, when they arrive at a seamstress on palace alley, set between a cobbler and a sweets shop. The smell of boiled sugar is strong as he helps the driver tie the horses, opening the storage seat to pull out hay, and then to open the door to help his cousins and aunt out. The girls chitter, and Fluffnut fakes a little swoon when they see the shop itself, a small little plaque on the door that says HOFFERSON'S the only ornamentation. Tuff stares at it as he holds the door open for them, trying to remember where he knows the name from. A bell jingles at the movement of the door. 

“Welcome to Hofferson’s seamstress,” a woman calls from where she’s sitting in the window light, a lantern over her shoulder. She is stitching the most intricate gold work Tuff has seen, something he could only imagine after copying a pattern off a ripped piece of cloth for Gustav’s sister once. He wants to gawk, get up close, perhaps even touch it, but Aunt Huffnut blocks Tuff’s way with her cane. He stops. She’s right in one way, he shouldn’t touch it with his hay and horse dirty hands. 

“Good morning Ms Hofferson,” Aunt Huffnut says, a put on accent that makes her sound posher than she really is. 

“Ah, Mrs Thorston,” Ms Hofferson looks up, kind smile, “give me a moment to finish this off. Your girls are welcome to look around.” 

Saffnut and Fluffnut immediately squeal, going over to a dress hung on a frame far too big for them covered in beadwork that must take more hours than is left before the ball. Druffnut picks out something unfinished, midnight blue and without embroidery so she can compare the sleeves of the dress Tuff made to it. Aunt Huffnut joins them, steering her daughters to less expensive dresses, things without so much embroidery and beadwork. 

“And who are you?” Ms Hofferson asks, kindly, hand on Tuff’s shoulder. He turns to look at her, the ma’am on his tongue when Ms Hofferson frowns. “Oh, boy, what happened to your face?” 

“I,” Tuff says, hand darting up to his smarting cheek and his fingertips don’t come away with blood but there must be some kind of graze on his face. “I tripped over the stairs.” 

“Oh dear,” Ms Hofferson tuts. She doesn’t look like she believes him at all and pulls a cloth out from her work apron. “Here, wet this in the sink at the back and clean the graze up sweetheart, it wouldn’t do to mar such a handsome face.” 

Tuff flushes, but does as he’s told. Ms Hofferson seems like the kind of woman who calls everyone darling and sweetheart, it hardly means anything but in the middle of her shop full of beautiful clothes it makes him feel a little better. The sink is right at the back, large and square shaped with a bowl full of water ready next to it. Tuff dips the cloth into the water and leans over the sink to look into a brass rimmed mirror. The graze is not deep, nor particularly deep but there’s dirt in it and he gently brushes at his face to clean it, wiping over the whole redden area. It is only as he’s squeezing out the cloth in the sink that his eyes wander and land on a basket of material scraps. 

There are pieces of cotton, and shimmering tulle and  _ silk  _ and Tuff drops the cloth to touch it, smooth under his fingers. The scraps are odd shapes and sizes, triangles and little squares too small to even make a cuff and Tuff’s fingers itch. From where he is standing, he can just see the back of Aunt Huffnut’s head, hidden behind a changing panel, and no one would know if he bundled a few pieces into his pocket. He reaches out to pick up a piece of dyed silk, the colour of salmon flesh he saw once in the markets but thinks of Ms Hofferson’s kindness and stops. He imagines her kind face twisted into a frown, aware of what an ungrateful brat Tuff is now, and then of Ruff’s secret joy if she got to go to the ball and whispers his apologies as he picks up a couple of scraps to hide down his tunic. They are waste pieces, he tells himself, it’s okay. They’ll just be thrown out. 

A moment later he comes around the changing panel with a bashful smile and a mostly dry cloth. Ms Hofferson smiles at him as she takes the cloth back, listening attentively to Fluffnut talk about her perfect dress and he feels terrible but can’t make himself reveal the pieces of cloth. 

“And I want a big bow!” Fluffnut finishes up, hands as wide apart as possible, which is a clear exaggeration and Tuff is secretly glad he didn’t have to field that request. 

“I’d have to add wiring to a bow that big, dear.” Ms Hofferson says, wiping her hands on the cloth before putting it away and stepping over to the dress Fluffnut was pointing out. “But, we can certainly do something like this in the colour you’d like.” 

“I like black”. Druffnut says. When Ms Hofferson looks at her she offers nothing more, a shrug. Druffnut had clearly only been looking at the one dress, the midnight blue one that’s half done, but Ms Hofferson makes no move to look at it. 

Saffnut is waxing poetic about ruffles and flowers and sparkles to Ms Hofferson when the bell on the door jungles, a welcome distraction from hard to sew frills, and Tuff turns to watch a knight step in. Their armour is dull, splashes of mud up their legs, a dent in the breast plate that looks painful. The knight closes the door gently, a flash of a horse tied up next to the Thorston’s carriage behind them, the joints of their armour creaking. They shake themselves out, and then lift their hands to take their helmet off. It makes an awkward shuddering noise as the knight turns, only a glance of the side of their face, high cheekbones and a scar, long blonde hair tied tightly to the back of their neck. 

“Mama, why are you so  _ busy _ ?” The knight says, in a quiet moment where Saffnut is taking a large breath. Ms Hofferson’s face lights up. 

“Oh Astrid! You’re back!” Ms Hofferson cries, pressing a hand to Saffnut’s shoulder, “hold on my dear, my wandering daughter is back from a crusade, think up some more of your beautiful dress ideas for me.” Saffnut beams, turning to her sisters and mother to continue, but Tuff watches Ms Hofferson greet the knight, eyes wide. The knight turns, her lip split, and a large scar under one tired eye, and her expression is so soft and kind as she bundles up her mother in a careful hug, trying not to pinch her with any metal plates. She is the most beautiful person Tuffnut has ever set his eyes on. There’s blood beading on her lip, uncaring as she smiles it too wide, saying soft comforting things to Ms Hofferson. 

After a moment she looks up, catches his staring and he startles, looking away, gripping at his hands, willing his heated cheeks to stop feeling like he’s going to burn right through his skin. That is Sir Astrid, one of Prince Hiccup’s closest confidants and a part of the Royal inner circle and Tuff was caught in his hand-me-down, patched up clothes  _ staring.  _

“Hiccup is holding a Ball,” Ms Hofferson says when they break apart, Sir Astrid staring down at her mother with a soft expression, taking her daughter’s helmet and absent mindedly buffing it with the cloth Tuff used to wash his face. “All the eligible ladies are invited. You know how his parents are about finding him a queen.” 

“He agreed to a Ball?” Sir Astrid asks, taking off her dented chestplate. 

“You’ll have to ask him tomorrow, dear.” Ms Hofferson replies, purring the helmet down and tucking the cloth away, and turning back to the Thorston’s. “We’ve got three lovely girls ready to design their dream dresses.” 

“I want a big bow!” Fluffnut interrupts, throwing her hands wide and accidentally smacking into Druffnut and setting off a little scuffle. Druffnut pulls Fluffnut’s braids, and Fluffnut scratches Druffnut and their mother has to pull them apart. 

“And you’re here for a dress suit, sweetheart?” Ms Hofferson asks, turning to Tuff. 

“I made -“ Tuff starts, but Aunt Huffnut grips at his shoulder, too tight. For a moment, it feels like she has talons, and Tuff shuts up. She lets go. He doesn’t look at Ms Hofferson, or Sir Astrid, looking at his scuffed shoes, the stitching on the edges coming undone again. 

“Tuffnut? He’s here to stand in for his cousin. They’re about the same size and look very similar.” Aunt Huffnut says. Tuff looks up at her. The lie isn’t unexpected, but Tuff has to blink back hot tears that threaten to fall, his throat tight. Or maybe it was the truth all along. Aunt Huffnut had just wanted an excuse to dress her son up in finery, laughing at Tuffnut’s disappointment as an added benefit. 

“What a kind lad,” Ms Hofferson says, smiling crookedly at Tuffnut when he looks over at her voice. Tuff tries to smile back. She turns to her daughter, eyes bright and calls out “how about you trample that mud through our house instead of the shop? Tuffnut can help you carry the armour, if that’s alright boy?” 

“Sure.” Tuff says. He thinks about all the chores he will have to do until the night is late and everyone is asleep. He might as well do someone else’s chores too. 

“Mama, don’t you want me front and center in between your beautiful clothes?” Sir Astrid teases, handing the breast plate over to Tuff. Their hands brush and Tuff takes it, pink faced and wordless, stomach flip-flopping at the warmth of Sir Astrid’s skin. 

“You know I do,” Ms Hofferson says, shifting the changing panel around so it provides protection around her work station from the window, grabbing a measuring tape. “Clean up your lip dear.” 

Sir Astrid laughs and salutes her mother, opening a backdoor to lead Tuffnut through. It doesn’t immediately go to the house, a corridor that’s got covers over the windows and bolts and bolts of fabric. Awed Tuff stares, at heavy set blind fabric, and airy, Royal purple dyed silks, at soft, breathable cotton that look like they’re used for work shirts. It is a treasure trove, and it is only Sir Astrid’s “you coming?” that ensures Tuff doesn’t drop her breast plate to run his fingers across each roll he passes. 

“Just put it up here,” Sir Astrid directs, dropping her helmet and gloves on a large workbench in a slated kitchen area. Tuff does as he’s told as Sir Astrid unbuckles the armour around her arms, and then her legs. He stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to say, if he should say anything at all, eyeing off the sword still buckled to her waist as Sir Astrid pulls out a chest. It is full of tinctures and herbal remedies, and little cotton rags and she tips something out onto one, wiping at her split lip. 

“I should probably go back.” Tuff says, and Sir Astrid looks up, grime and grease on her cheek and cotton tag pressed to her mouth. It takes away his breath. She shakes her head. 

“How’d you get that scrape?” She asks, putting her cotton rag down to pick up another, pouring more of the bottle onto it. 

“I tripped,” Tuff says. No one is here to appreciate the lie, but he says it anyway. He turns his face, so the area is covered in shadow and he hopes that’s the end of that. 

“Now, I’m sure you told my mama that too, but I don’t believe it just as much as she didn’t.” Sir Astrid says, reaching out to grip his chin. She tilts his head, pressure firm but loose enough that Tuff knows if he took one step, if he shook his head Sir Astrid would let go. 

“I was pushed, Sir.” Tuff agrees, if only because he feels like he has short circuited. 

“This is going to sting,” Sir Astrid offers and she gently presses the rag to the graze on his cheek. It does sting, sharp and hard like a paper cut, or when the moisture has been drained out of his hands scrubbing the floors and the skin cracks. “And you don’t have to call me Sir. This isn’t the royal court. I’m just a seamstress’s daughter.” 

“Okay,” Tuff says, pulling away. Astrid smiles at him, dropping the rag with her other one and she turns to apply a balm to her lip, more of the stinging liquid to her knuckles. The silence settles, and Tuff feels choked up by it, wanting to disturb it but sick to his stomach with the stormy ship ride of the day. 

“Does your family treat you badly?” Astrid asks, not looking up and for a moment Tuff feels angry. Astrid is a  _ knight  _ and her mother is kind, what does Astrid know? Besides, Tuff’s going to make his sister a dress, and she’ll marry the prince and then they’ll live happily ever after. 

“No worse than any other family.” Tuff says instead, carefully. Astrid looks up. 

“Okay.” She agrees, and then, “they’re probably wondering where you are. If you’re going to touch the fabric on the way back, wipe your hands on something first.” 

“Alright.” Tuff agrees, turning and wiping his hands on his trousers. He takes the dismissal for what it is, angry and upset and worried that he messed the whole conversation up. 

He doesn’t touch any of the fabric on the way back, too afraid to mess that up too. It’s beautiful, and perfect and he isn’t worth the scraps shoved down his tunic. He opens the door, letting himself back in as Ms Hofferson calls up Saffnut to stand on the stool 

“What pretty embroidery.” Ms Hofferson comments, touching a sleeve Tuffnut spent three hours perfecting. Saffnut beams again, grinning so wide her mouth must hurt. 

“Oh, Tuff did it!” She says, excited at the compliment and obviously unaware she’s not supposed to let that information slip. “He does all of our clothes. He’s very good for someone who has no training, you know.” 

“You did this?” Ms Hofferson looks over at Tuff. Aunt Huffnut is glaring but he nods anyway, shaken by the way the Astrid had seen right through them anyway, about how she had said her mother knew too. “This is beautiful, you have a very good hand. I would be willing to offer you an apprenticeship.” 

Tuff nods before he fully understands the statement. His jaw drops open without his permission, head snapping to look at Ms Hofferson. This is even  _ better  _ than a few scraps. He could sneak one or two home a day, careful. He could  _ actually  _ make Ruff a dress. 

“Tuffnut is a very busy boy at home, I doubt he has time.” Aunt Huffnut says. Tuff wants to scream.

“You’re turning down an apprenticeship under the King’s seamstress?” Ms Hofferson turns to Aunt Huffnut, who looks taken aback. “I’ve never offered this to anyone, not even my own daughter. It is a very prestigious thing to have attached to your family name. With Tuffnut’s help I’ll be able to make your daughter’s dresses even more extravagant than just myself.” 

“Please mummy,” Fluffnut says, on board the moment the word extravagant is used. She probably wants beadwork and soft pink silk. 

“Well, in that case.” Aunt Huffnut thinks out loud, Clearly something cruel is tracking along in her brain and Tuff prays it’s not horrible chores she’s going to pile onto Ruffnut. “As long as he’s home in time to finish his chores.” 

“Perfect,” Ms Hofferson agrees, holding her measuring tape out to take the width of Saffnut’s shoulders. “Tuffnut, an hour after sun up I’ll expect you here with your sewing supplies. Please bring another sample of your work.”

Aunt Huffnut doesn’t say anything more for the rest of the visit, quiet during Saffnut’s measurements, and completely disinterested in Tuff’s except to make sure Ms Hofferson writes down Gruffnut’s name. The carriage ride home, she shuts the partition so Tuff cannot hear his cousin’s happy chirps and descriptions of the clothes they all saw. Tuff lets the driver tell him all about the beautiful roan mare Astrid has rode in on, a horse so fine he had taken off his hat and cried. On the steps to the Thorston home Aunt Huffnut grabs Tuff’s arm, sharp nails pricking into his skin and makes him wait until the others are inside. 

“See that you don’t mess this up, boy.” Aunt Huffnut says. “You’ve been a disappointment since you were born. Probably the reason your mother disappeared. You hold Ms Hofferson’s pins as she makes my daughter’s dresses beautiful enough to catch the Prince’s eye and if it’s not enough I will know it was you, tainting things.”

“Yes Aunt Huffnut.” Tuff agrees, if only to get her to let go. She does with a shake hard enough to rattle his bones. 

“And your good for nothing sister has to do your chores whilst you’re busy. We can’t have the house looking like peasants live here.” She continues, pushing Tuff forwards to open the front door for her. He does, just wide enough to get through and Aunt Huffnut shoots him a glare. “Get to work on your chores, you’re already way behind.” 

Tuff heads to the kitchen, searching for the mop and bucket and gets to work. It takes him hours, mopping and cleaning and dusting, way into the night past dinner time and once Ruff is free from her own chores she joins him. She passes over a cold piece of chicken and Tuff gobbles it down, careful not to spill crumbs over the already cleaned floor. 

“Where did you go?” She hisses, taking the spare scrubbing brush. Tuff reaches out, wanting her not to do extra before she truly has to. 

“A seamstress.” Tuff whispers back, “To get our cousin’s dresses. The seamstress has offered me an apprenticeship - I can make you a dress to go to the Ball.”

“What!” Ruff yelps, looking up at Tuff, wide eyed. An uncle peaks his head around the corner and the both of them start scrubbing furiously, pretending they had not spoken. “You’re not serious.” 

“Of course I am,” Tuff says and pulls some of the scraps of fabric out from under his tunic, showing Ruffnut the pale green silk. She touches it with reverence, soapy fingers leaving a mark and looks away. 

They don’t say anything more, finishing up the hallways and tidying up the cleaning equipment for the day. Tuff whispers he’s sorry for all the extra chores Ruff will have to do as they climb the rickety stairs to their room but Ruff laughs. She helps him put his collection of bent and old needles into his lock box, a few scraps of burlap with samples of embroidery stitches and then, her button that belonged to their mother. 

“For luck,” she says. 

  
  


**** 

  
  


Tuff arrives thirty four minutes early for his first day at Hofferson’s seamstress and he’s not sure if that’s as much a faux pas as being late. The walk over had taken much less time than he had imagined, what with Gustav showing him a short cut, and how there was nothing keeping at home. Seeing Ruff wash the floors in Tuff’s section of the house made his stomach churn with guilt and he’d put on his very best flour sack shirt to look professional so she didn’t want him to get dirty. At least now he knew he had more time in the morning to help Ruff out. 

The bell rings, door opening and Tuff jumps. 

“Ah, Tuffnut, wasn’t it?” Astrid calls out, leaning against the wall of the seamstress, mug in her hand. She’s in a silken blouse and knight’s trousers, not a care in the world, stretching in the sun. “You’re welcome to put your stuff inside. Mama’s out getting bread, but you can help yourself to the water I just boiled. We have herbal tea.”

“I’m okay,” Tuff says, awkward. He stole fabric scraps yesterday, he’s planning to help himself again, he doesn’t feel comfortable with how easily, how happily they’re letting him into their house. 

“Here,” Astrid says, pushing her mug full of hot herbal tea into Tuff’s empty hand and takes his lockbox. She disappears back into the shop, door swinging. 

Tuff looks at the mug in his hand, water dark and warm against his palm in a way the morning gruel he has for breakfast wasn’t. There’s a mark, shine from the tea he thinks, where Astrid’s mouth had been and he thinks about stealing a sip before he realises how creepy that sounds, how much like Gruffnut it sounds. Astrid is back a moment later, rolling her eyes as Tuff holds the mug out, but she swaps mugs anyway.

“So, boy whose family hurts him the normal amount, what else do you do except trip on staircases and sew?” Astrid asks, stretching and leaning back into the shop wall in the sun. 

“I’m not a boy.” Tuff says,  _ whines _ . Now he sounds like Gustav, truly this is a terrible day, an even worse impression than the day before. 

“Okay, sure.” Astrid agrees with a laugh. “You sound like Hiccup, all ‘Astrid I’m twenty years old! I’m not a child!’ Like he thinks the whole hitting twenty thing makes him the man of the house with his bear of a man dad around.” 

“He’s right.” Tuff offers, and Astrid laughs again, turning to look at Tuff. Her split lip looks better, but in the bright light it shows off a bruise shadowing her bottom lip, and one eye with smudges of purple that yesterday Tuff has thought was just tiredness. In this light the scar under her eye, the one with the bruising, looks stark against her skin, red and ugly. She is breathtaking. 

“Oh, so you’re an invincible twenty year old too?” She asks, teasing, cheerful. “Why have I been cursed to suffer their foolhardiness?”

“You speak as if you are a million years old and not twenty three,” Ms Hofferson laughs, rounding the corner between the seamstress and the sweet shop, “my girl, old head on her shoulders, more foolhardy than a twenty year old who thinks they’ve just drunk from the fountain of youth.” 

“Mama!” Astrid laughs, taking the produce from Ms Hofferson’s hands. Ms Hofferson opens the front door, ushering the both of them in. Astrid takes the food straight out the back, opening the door to the hallway of fabric. “Don’t ruin my image for me!” 

“She used to be such a serious child,” Ms Hofferson muses, smiling fondly at her daughter’s back, “I am so happy to see her laugh.” 

“Serious?” Tuff asks, sitting holding his mug and unsure what to do. 

“Oh, you should have seen her as a child, a frown on her face and anger radiating through her tiny body. She made me sew skulls and bones on her tunics, throwing a fit if I so much as looked at a dress. She made herself an axe from a stolen piece of slag from the Blacksmith’s down the road and a piece of wood from the fireplace, and said she was going to protect me from the world.” Ms Hofferson replies, brushing a hand over Tuff’s shoulder and urging him towards his lockbox on the counter. “But, it’s a mother’s job to protect her children, not the other way around.”

“Astrid was really like that?” Tuff looks up at Ms Hofferson, and then down at his lockbox. In the light, and amongst Ms Hofferson’s many beautiful, perfect things it looks boring, broken, something that should have been thrown in the trash. “Sometimes my sister is like that too. Like she could take on the whole world by herself, but she doesn’t have to. I’m here too.” 

“That you are,” Ms Hofferson agrees with a smile, giving Tuff’s shoulder a squeeze. Then she reaches out to pick up Tuff’s lockbox. Inside looks even worse to Tuff, burlap obviously coarse and cheap compared to the cotton of Ms Hofferson’s sleeve and his collection of mismatched needles, some with broken eyes pathetic. “Is this all you have?” 

“I found them, and one Saffnut gave me a needle for my birthday so I could do fine work on her hems. She likes flowers and little leaves.” He explained. He feels embarrassed, ready for Ms Hofferson to tell him she takes the apprenticeship back, that he’s not and will never be good enough. 

“You did all the work on your cousin’s dresses with this?” Ms Hofferson shakes the lockbox and Tuff shrugs. “I’m very impressed. That takes a lot of talent, such fine needle work with broken equipment. And on burlap - what a tricky medium, there’s fibres everywhere in the way, and it shifts. I think cotton might not be hard enough for you!” 

“Once Aunt Huffnut let me do some white work on her cotton pillow case.” Tuff says, unsure what else to add. “The feathers made me sneeze. I think she had bedbugs.” 

Ms Hofferson laughs, patting Tuff on the shoulder. “Let’s get you some proper equipment to work with.” She suggests, easy. She puts Tuff’s lockbox back down on the counter carefully, like it’s something precious and not a couple of pieces of wood falling apart. “My Astrid’s just chopping up wood so I can do some dying this morning, and she’ll be heading to the castle grounds for training afterwards. We can have lunch with the knights and go shopping for some proper sewing supplies.” 

“I don’t have any money,” Tuff says, not yet recovered enough from the last feeling of embarrassment to not feel sick with it again. 

“That’s alright dear, we can use your pay for the first week.” Ms Hofferson says, opening up the door to the back hallway, humming softly to herself. “Come along dear.” 

“Pay?” Tuff asks the back of her, watching until the door shuts and then he springs up, opening the door and hurrying past the hallway of fabrics. A back door in their house is propped open, a large window shining early morning light over a cosy little dining table, shadows patterned by lace curtains. Tuff can imagine Ms Hofferson and Astrid sitting there, herbal tea and honey on bread, chatting in the warm oranges of the sunrise, and feels jealousy, and longing, and guilt. He imagines mornings with his mother would have been like this too, him and Ruff and griddle cakes and their mother laughing, embroidery in her hands. He imagines sitting there now, between Ms Hofferson and Astrid, and Ruffnut is arguing the benefits of fish oil in her hair, and feeling a part of a family that’s bigger than having to sit in the dark with wishes. 

Looking up through the window, Ms Hofferson has an armful of cotton, stopping to chat to her daughter. There’s a large cauldron over a fire, water not yet hot enough to be steaming, and Astrid is in her undershirt, bare arms and axe on her shoulder as she talks to her mother. A pile of firewood is ready at their feet, but more to be chopped and Astrid laughs at something Ms Hofferson says and leans over to kiss her mother’s cheek. Ms Hofferson shakes her head, probably laughing too and goes over to the cauldron to rest the cotton nearby, checking the water. Astrid goes back to chopping the wood, propping another log up on the splitting bench and lifting her axe high, using the momentum of the swing to split the wood easily. It must be warm in the sun, her brow and arms shining with sweat and Tuff’s captivated at the easy shift of her muscles as she lifts the axe, the definition of them when she props it ready, bringing more wood over to her mother. The chestplate Tuff carried yesterday was more than enough for him, and it was only a piece of the armour that Astrid  _ fought  _ in. She must be unbelievably strong. 

When she turns she catches sight of Tuff, and waves, cheerful but Tuff feels caught out, wrong. He flushes, turning away and sees a pile of cotton on a rocking chair nearby, so happy to do something with his hands, he bundles it up and brings it outside. Ms Hofferson waves him over, putting some of the wood Astrid just brought under the cauldron. 

“Ah, Tuff,” Ms Hofferson calls, “put that with the other cotton, and then can you bring me a jar of walnut crystals. It should be on the third shelf in the big cupboard.” 

“Okay.” He agrees, setting the cotton down with the rest and turning back to go inside to find the ‘big cupboard’. Stepping back, it’s immediately obvious what the big cupboard is - a huge, ornamental centrepiece, hand carved flourishes lacquered beautifully. Gingerly Tuff opens a door, and on the third shelf from the top is bottles and containers of all sorts of substances he doesn’t know. Ochres of different colours and different locations, woad and indigo, common madder and even crushed kermes. Amongst it all, hand coming away blue when he accidentally touches a spill, is a container of walnut crystals. 

When he brings them back outside, Astrid is gone, a large pile of wood by Ms Hofferson’s cauldron. She calls him over with a smile, showing him how to measure out the amount of dye per gallon of water, and gets him to stir the bubbling pot. When it’s brown enough to her liking they feed the cotton in, swirling it around in the dye. Tuff stands dutiful as Ms Hofferson gets them more herbal tea, watching over the fabric until she’s satisfied. They douse the fire, pulling the cauldron to one side to cool down faster and Ms Hofferson puts on a pair of elbow gloves, stained red and blue and various shades of brown. She pulls the cotton out, squeezing and draining, directing Tuff to pull the place along, pegging it up to a long clothes line. They repeat the action again and again and again until all the cotton is squeeze dried and hanging up to fully dry. 

“I think it’s almost time for lunch, don’t you?” Ms Hofferson asks, stripping off her gloves. Tuff nods, taking off his own borrowed gloves. “We’ll wash up and then pack a basket to go eat with the knights. I bought enough bread to feed at least half of them.” 

“Do the knights not feed themselves?” Tuff asks, following Ms Hofferson along to the laundry, and washes his hands in the tub after she washes her’s. 

“They do, but I think some of them think beer and pheasant is the ideal meal.” She laughs, walking back into the kitchen area where Astrid had cleaned up his graze the day before. 

“It is a very good meal,” Tuff agrees. He’s only had it once, when passing by one of the taverns Gruffnut frequents and got mistaken for Gruffnut. Apparently, extravagant storytelling is in their family’s blood, and it was the nicest time anyone’s ever mistaken him for Gruffnut. Normally they want the money he owes. Ms Hofferson laughs. 

“That it is, but how about we fill them up with bread and salad instead?” She asks, getting out several loaves of fresh bread, a cutting board and a bread knife. “If you cut, l’ll fill and wrap the sandwiches. Perhaps on our way we can have a mug of beer ourselves!” 

Tuff cuts three loaves of bread into generous slices, and once done helps Ms Hofferson load them with wild lettuce and roasted root vegetables and either some delicious smelling leg ham or pieces of roast chicken breast. They wrap them in clean cloths, packaging them all away in the large market basket Ms Hofferson brought the produce home in early that morning. They lock up the shop, much to a disgruntled lady’s displeasure, and make their way to the palace. Tuff feels scrutinised when they pass the guard house, like they might take one look at him and throw him out but Ms Hofferson smiles, giving each guard a sandwich and they wave them both in. 

Whilst Tuff knows the town well, not like the back of his hand as Gustav does, but enough that he gets around easily, but he’s never stepped foot into the palace grounds before. The first thing he really takes in is the gardens, of beautifully manicured roses and camellias, of a lawn that stretches as far as the eye can see to buildings on the horizon and the imposing Palace itself beyond that. There are people, knights and squires and page boys milling around, some fighting, some sharpening weapons. 

“Mama!” Astrid calls, waving them over. She greets her mother with a kiss to the cheek, and so does another knight with pitch black hair and green eyes. A tall knight, with face tattoos draws her into a hug. 

“I’ve brought lunch, I trust you haven’t eaten.” Ms Hofferson says brightly. Tuff holds up the basket. 

“No ma’am,” a stocky man says, grinning, “when we heard you were bringing food we waited patiently.” Ms Hofferson laughs and takes the basket from Tuff, handing out lunch. 

“This is Tuff, my mama’s apprentice.” Astrid says, “Tuff these are my friends, Heather, Snotlout and Eret.” 

“Friends she says,” the stocky man says, “just before you arrived she was criticising my parries, and then my left hook, and my foot work. Friends indeed!” 

“Oh come on ‘Lout,” Astrid laughs and shoves him, not enough to do anything but enough that he nudges her back, and it starts an all out scuffle, the both of them trying to gain the upper hand, laughing. 

“Children, the lot of them.” Ms Hofferson whispers to Tuff, offering sandwiches out to other knights and squires she seems to know all by name. Tuff ends up with a ham sandwich, and is secretly very glad, taking a bite and nearly melting into his seat. Somehow, it is the most delicious sandwich Tuff has ever tasted. 

“Good, isn’t it?” Eret agrees, and Tuff nods. He grabs a second sandwich and offers one to go Tuff too. Astrid manages to get Snotlout in a headlock, shouting triumphantly as he squirms. 

“They’re alright?” Ms Hofferson asks, looking at her daughter and Snotlout scuffling, Astrid’s knuckles digging into Snotlout’s head as he tries to elbow her in the stomach. 

“Snotlout is overcompensating since his knee injury,” Heather reports, taking a second sandwich. “Astrid’s just worried he’s over doing it when his form is still out of practice.” 

“She didn’t get to smother him when we were out on patrol the last couple of weeks,” Eret adds, “she’s just making up for lost time.” 

A moment later Snotlout calls uncle, pinned down by Astrid’s knee and they get up, laughing, slapping each other on the back. Astrid swings an arm around Snotlout’s shoulder and they crowd around the table, pushing into Tuff’s side of the benches. He moves over as far as possible, but it’s still a squeeze for three grown adults and he spends the rest of the lunch cheeks red, Astrid pressed right up against his side, her face turned away as she laughs at terrible jokes her friends make. 

“You were quiet,” Ms Hofferson says, when they leave the others behind, heading into the buildings within the palace walls. 

“They’re nice.” Tuff says. He means it, the jokes had been terrible, but they all had included him as though it was easy, as though he was worth including. 

“I know you haven’t spoken much since we met yesterday, but I just have this feeling you have a lot to say building up inside you.” Ms Hofferson adds. Some of Tuff’s earliest memories of his father include him yelling  _ would you shut the brat up _ ! so maybe it’s true. “It’s alright, if you want to speak.” 

“Astrid said you didn’t believe me when I said I tripped.” Tuff replies. He doesn’t know what prompts it. Perhaps it’s her comment earlier about old eyes, not as good for embroidery as they used to be, but she seems to see through everything. 

“You should have seen the relief on your aunt’s face.” Ms Hofferson remarks, turning down a dark little alleyway. Tuff follows dutifully. “I bet it was the oldest cousin, what was her name? Dufflenut?” 

“Druffnut.” Tuff’s sure she knew that, but the mispronunciation makes him smile. 

“Ah, of course, Druffnut.” Ms Hoffersons stops in front of a stained oak door, a strange symbol drawn over the front in blue ink, drips where whoever had painted it messed up. “The thing is, Astrid’s very good at sniffing out injustice. She collects lost things. If you want our help, it is there for you. Just ask anyone.” 

Tuff doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to respond to being called a  _ lost thing,  _ and so he just follows through the door. Inside the shop is dark, a black sheet with the night sky embroidered on it over one window. There are tables and tables of things, crystals and rocks and carved ornaments that make Tuff blush. There’s piles of old scrolls and dusty books, old coins and jewelry of bronze and shells. Metal birdcages with nothing in them, and bits of beetle wings, dried flowers in clay vases. It’s an assault on his senses, in the best kind of way. 

“Good afternoon Gothi,” Ms Hofferson calls and all of a sudden Tuff realises there’s a wisened old woman amongst it all, silent as an owl. She is watching them with bright, attentive eyes. 

“Good afternoon.” Tuff adds, polite. He feels like if he moves everything will get knocked down, crumpling under his heavy footsteps. Gothi taps the floorboards with her staff and then draws a pattern too fast for Tuff to follow. 

“It is lovely to see you,” Ms Hofferson says, “I’m here to get my apprentice Tuffnut a proper set of embroidery needles, and some other essential items.” It doesn’t look like a shop with needles and thread, but Gothi taps her staff again and they follow her into the next room which is full of blankets and wool. 

Ms Hofferson lets Tuff pick out a box, something sturdy and a similar colour to the fabric they dyed in the morning, with tonnes of compartments as she follows Gothi’s pointing, choosing all kinds of needles and pins. She chooses hoops of several sizes, multiple scissors and shears, whilst Tuff stares at a quaint little mouse pincushion and Ms Hofferson grabs that too. Some of the stuff that goes into box Tuff has never seen before, eyes wide, and he picks out a thimble that fits best on his thumb. Ms Hofferson shoos him out of the shop as she pays, holding his brand new sewing kit and he doesn’t know what to say, even if he doesn’t catch how much it all costs. 

“How much do you make?” Tuff asks as Ms Hofferson steps out, a sample of that black fabric and a bottle of black ink in her market basket. He blanches, going white and back tracks. “I mean, this is a lot.” 

“Oh my dear, like I said, that’s about a week’s worth of your wages.” She tutts and then reaches out to link their arms together. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry your head about it. I have lots of work as an esteemed seamstress, the King and Queen commission me a lot, and they have no idea whether something’s an appropriate amount of money. And Astrid as the King’s Royal Guard gets enough pay to feed an army. I mean, she does feed one - St Peter’s orphanage gets enough to feed the kids two times over. You mustn’t worry about the money.” 

Gobsmacked, Tuff nearly trips over a misplaced cobblestone. He can’t even  _ fathom _ that kind of wealth. Perhaps once Ruff marries the Prince he need not be a drain on her too, making his own way as a seamstress instead. He could make beautiful dresses for Ruff every week, commission pieces for royals and noblemen. 

“Now,” Ms Hofferson says, directing them back towards the town, past the knights and out the palace gates, “let's get back to my shop and you can stitch me a couple of samplers to show me your work with something  _ fine.”  _

And that’s how their days progress, Tuff up early to get as many of his chores done as possible, before he heads off to Hofferson’s Seamstress where the mornings are embroidering dresses in the early morning light, or dyeing new pieces of fabric. Tuff touches fine cotton, and silks and gets used to the feeling, a new part of his normal. Mid mornings are with customers, measuring and listening, drawing ideas down on sheets of sheer papers that rip easily. He learns how to translate a bubbly little girl’s joy into a bright yellow sundress, a middle aged woman’s careful explanations into an elegant evening dress, requests for stately grey suit jackets into the right cut, a million women’s dreams into the dresses they’re sure will win the prince’s heart. 

At lunch, every day, they make sandwiches, or pack snacks of roasted vegetables and minced legume dips and head to the palace grounds to feed many of the knights. The group is happy to see them, bright and carefree in a way Tuff never imagined knights to be. In town they’re always covered up in armour, no expression, and it had scared him as a small child, but now they come flocking like little chicks following a mother when they see him and Ms Hofferson. They gift Tuff his own basket, an excuse for more food and Snotlout jokes that Tuff should bring cakes and pie, so he takes to baking first thing at the Hofferson’s. 

Astrid’s friends are nice, and like the very first day they make him feel included. Eret is serious, especially with his face tattoos, until he makes a joke and then he’s loose and happy. He says his tattoos are from his culture, a place far away up north and he met Astrid fighting them. He had lost his family, and that culture very young and worked for a man he was scared of. Now, he visits the same orphanage Astrid feeds daily, sharing stories from his people with the children. Snotlout’s father was a brute that none of them mention but to cuss out, a hand on Snotlout’s shoulder or head. He doesn’t appreciate being the smallest, and sometimes his jokes are rude but he apparently waters the flowers around the training grounds every day and feeds the squirrels. He is learning to be soft, and is the youngest of them, the same age as Tuff. Heather is serious too, a story Tuff probably won’t learn, but once on the way back to the shop Astrid had whispered about being thrown out her village, and losing her adopted parents. But, she and Astrid are very clearly dear friends, Heather brightening up considerably when they get to spar. Sometimes, when Heather is having a good day she leans conspiratorially forwards and makes a very loud comment about how cute another knight is. Astrid laughs, and joins in and so does Eret, and the one time Tuff manages to pipe up and say something silly they all go sprawling with laughter. 

And sometimes, when Heather is having a good day, another knight sits with them. His name is Dagur and he has wild red hair and a temperament to match. He is Heather’s brother, or half-brother or something and they don’t always get along. Dagur did something bad. Astrid says, once upon a time she’d never forgive someone for what Dagur did, but she sees good in him. It took her a long time, and the scar on his shoulder is from her sword, but he saved her life and Heather’s too, so they’re trying.

And Astrid - well, Astrid doesn’t seem real. Ms Hofferson speaks of an angry girl, an unforgiving girl who wanted to scream and yell and once tore her own nail out trying to prove herself compared to the male squires. Perhaps, if Tuff had known her then he would not be so taken by her smiles, her quiet determination, her kindness. Perhaps, he would be more so. She makes sure he’s joining in, retelling stories if they’re important for in-jokes with laughter in her voice as the others speak over her. They show him how to hold a knife, and a sword that’s almost too heavy for him. Astrid stands behind him, hand on his forearm and he doesn’t remember a thing about how to swing it properly. 

After they see Astrid and her friends -  _ Tuff’s  _ friends too, now - they go back to the shop. Sometimes Ms Hofferson makes house calls, and this is when Tuff cards through the scraps bin and hides pieces in his pockets and down his tunic. Tuff embroiders projects Ms Hofferson gives him, sometimes dresses on order, sometimes samplers of stitches she wants him to practice. They only cut and sew dresses together, Ms Hofferson wanting to be careful with measurements and folds and pleats and Tuff takes it all in. His cousin’s dresses slowly come to fruition on dressmaker’s mannequins, pieces pinned here and there, hems sown and marked out for bead work and bows. Ms Hofferson even lets him work on the beautiful midnight blue dress, silver thread to stitch stars like the tapestry in old woman Gothi’s shop. They drink herbal tea and talk and Ms Hofferson smiles when she says Tuff has so much to say. 

When he gets home to the Thorston house he does chores until dinner, picking up anything Ruff and he could not get done during the day already. Ruff is tired, hands dry from all the extra work and Tuff takes their meals up to their room for her. He thought it would be a fight at first, food in their rooms but Uncle Buffnut makes a snide comment about how nice it is to eat without having to look at the twins so he takes it for what it is. 

After finishing dinner, Tuff pulls out the stolen scraps of fabric and gets to work trying to fit the piece into what already exists of Ruff’s ball dress. He put his best needles in the fantastic sewing box Ms Hofferson bought him, and his mother’s buttons, but he kept his lockbox and the broken needles and ties pieces of thread together to stitch the dress together. Aunt Huffnut doesn’t know about the pay for the seamstress work, so Tuff squirrels it away, giving half to Ruffnut and spending the rest on candles and beautiful thread to do the final embroidery work. Ruff stands and helps, holding things for him and the candle close when Tuff needs it. She asks teasing questions about “his Knight” that makes him blush until it feels like his cheeks will be pink forever. He works until his fingers are as tired and dry as Ruff’s and he can barely keep his eyes open. He sleeps, ready to go again the next day. 

It is all going well until he gets caught, hand in the scraps box, heart jack hammering in his throat. 

It starts off as a normal day, embroidery on the midnight blue dress in the morning, and lunch with the knights. Astrid has the afternoon off, so she walks home with Tuff and Ms Hofferson, promising to chop more wood for a big dye job they are to do tomorrow. They’re going to be using indigo and Tuff is excited to see deep purple cloth, amazed to be getting to touch it. Ms Hofferson goes on a house call, a dress all ready for a client, and Tuff helps Astrid to carry the wood delivered earlier in the morning to the courtyard. He stays a moment, learns nothing about the correct posture to swing an axe even as Astrid tries to teach, too distracted by the sheen of sweat on her biceps. 

He’s working on the midnight blue dress again, one of his favourite projects and gets caught up in stitching Andromeda perfectly that he doesn’t realise the time. It’s only when he realises the light is low, and goes to look for candle to light that Ms Hofferson will be back soon. Astrid hasn’t come out from the house, although she usually does with a cup of herbal tea for both of them to talk over, and Tuff  _ knows  _ there’s a perfect pink to match a piece he’d been debating on including so he chances it anyway. He steps behind the changing panel, and ferrets around in the scrap box, coming up with a beautiful piece of silk that’s dyed with the softest blush of kermes. Tuff basks in its beauty for a second, and then there’s a stamp of a foot and he bolts upright.

“What’s this?” Astrid demands, tone angry in a way Tuff’s never heard and he panics. Astrid grabs at him, hand tight around his arm and it sets off something Tuff didn’t know he had hidden in his chest, trying to pull away from her. It’s no use, Astrid is as strong as three Tuffnuts and usually that thought would send shivers through his spine but now it makes him feel cornered, like a mouse finally caught by a cat. He droops. 

“My sister got an invitation too,” Tuff says, arm burning under Astrid’s hand, “but our family wouldn’t let her go so I hid the invitation before they could burn it, and she has nothing to wear so I was going to use the scraps from the dresses I’d make but then they came here and I can’t let my sister not  _ go _ . I didn’t want to steal from your mama, she is so kind and thoughtful and lovely but it’s just the off pieces that can’t be used for anything else, so I thought it would be okay.” 

“Oh Tuffnut,” Astrid says, eyes kind. When she looks at him, crows’ feet wrinkling her scar, it makes his stomach flop nervously, guilt at what he’s done, guilt at how much he likes her hand on him. They were friends, why did he have to  _ ruin  _ everything? “Why didn’t you tell us before?” 

“It’s not you.” Tuff says helplessly, unsure of how else to explain the point, if anything would help anyway. He doesn’t let go of the piece of silk, rose blush pink and Astrid doesn’t make him, looping an arm around his shoulders and encouraging him to step back around the changing panel. Ms Hofferson is back and she looks up, and frowns. 

“Mama, Tuffnut has something he wants to tell you.” Astrid prompts and Tuff doesn’t want to admit it but with the silk in his hands it’s as good as admitting the truth. He doesn’t mean for it, but a tear, and then four, leak out the corners of his eyes. 

“I just, I took a few scraps of fabric to make my sister a dress for the Ball.” Tuff hiccups. “I’m really sorry.” 

“Oh dear,” Ms Hofferson says, and then she bundles Tuff up into a hug. Confused, Tuff stands there awkwardly, unsure what to do, still holding the silk. “You poor thing, taking scraps. Why didn’t you say? You could have made the dress from whatever you’d like.” 

Tuff’s jaw drops. Bolts of good fabric cost upwards of sums of money Tuff has never dreamed of before. Scraps no one was going to use is one thing, but stealing whole bolts of fabric? After everything the Hoffersons have done for him? 

“I can’t pay for it,” he says in the end, mouth goldfishing and Astrid rubs his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else to add.  _ Please don’t tell my Aunt _ , perhaps? 

“And?” Ms Hofferson asks, “your sister deserves to go to the Ball just as much as your cousins, as any other young lady. Your fine work is incredible - and incredibly helpful for my poor old eyes. I’m not going to charge you to make a dress for your sister.” 

Tuff breaks down. 

Ms Hofferson gathers him back up into another hug, curling his face into her neck, tucking him under her chin. Tuff grips at her shoulders, and sobs, unsure why, but he can’t stop and he doesn’t want them to  _ look _ so curled up is better than no where. Ms Hofferson rubs his back, cheek on the top of his head and says soft, kind things that makes Tuff cry even more. When the sobs subside she pulls out a handkerchief for him to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. When Tuff steps back, apology on his tongue for getting Ms Hofferson’s dress wet with tears, he realises it’s just him and Ms Hofferson. 

“Astrid’s making tea,” Ms Hofferson says, kindly. “She didn’t mean to scare you, she’s got a heart of gold it’s just sometimes she forgets not everyone responds well to strictness like that. You’re so bright, and bubbly and sweet when you’re around us, it’s sometimes easy to forget.”

“I am thirsty.” Tuff says, because he doesn’t want to address anything else. It is too much that it’s okay he was stealing scraps, too much that he blubbered like a baby in front of Astrid. She probably thinks he truly is a silly child now. 

“Of course you are.” Ms Hofferson says. “That was a lot of grief and sorrow to let out. Now, show me what you’re designing for your sister’s dress.” 

Astrid is back a minute later, a tray in her hands bringing herbal tea. She puts them down in front of her mother and Tuff, stopping by his side to look over the sketches they have made. Tuff takes his tea and sips at it even though it’s too hot so he has something to do with his hands and not run his mouth. A second later Astrid hooks her arm around Tuff’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” She says. Tuff nods, taking a too big sip so he doesn’t have to talk and burning his tongue. “I just meant you shouldn’t lie. We’ve had a squire stealing clothes for the last couple of months - particularly the girl’s clothes and I was still mad about that. It’s not like they  _ need  _ to take clothes, their knights provide it all, it was just an invasion of the other squires’ privacy.” 

“Okay.” Tuff says because he feels like he needs to say something, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Astrid lets him go after a moment, squeezing him once more. 

“This dress design is incredible,” Ms Hofferson says, turning their attention back to the papers in front of them. “The way you’re working the odd shapes of all the scraps together - genius! I never would have thought of that. You do know, you’re very welcome to help yourself to the bolts for this project.” 

“It’s okay, the scraps are fine.” Tuff says, although the thinks about getting use a soft brown silk he’s been walking past for a month. They have already been too kind, too forgiving. 

They work on the design until late, sipping at their herbal tea even as it goes cold. Ms Hofferson suggests fold and pleats in tricky areas that he didn’t know what to do with, so by the time dinner comes around Tuff’s perked up, chattering away. Ms Hofferson has to stop them, claiming a rumbling tummy as good a reason as any and draws Tuff into another hug. 

“Let me walk you home,” Astrid says. It is not particularly a tone that sounds like it’s up for debate, and Tuff feels better enough he doesn’t complain. 

“Don’t be out too long, dears.” Ms Hofferson says, and Astrid makes a show of buckling her scabbard to her waist, tucking her sword away. 

“Love you Mama, I’ll be back soon.” She says, pressing a kiss to Ms Hofferson’s cheek. 

The wall back to the Thorston house is mostly quiet, comfortable. It is nice, just the feeling of Astrid by his side, a protective presence with her sword, but at the same time he wants to fill it all up with words and chatter. He must make a noise, a sigh or a huff because Astrid looks at him sideways and smiles, asking him about his sister. Immediately he delves into praise, about how Ruff’s doing all his chores now he’s got the apprenticeship and she only complains fifty percent of the time so that’s like, pretty much a blessing in Ruff’s book. Of how she’s fierce and protective and once punched the lights out of a street bully who had been harassing him. They arrive home quicker than Tuff would like, the gothic architecture of Thorston house looming over them. 

“Well,” Tuff says, turning on a step to look at Astrid in the warm sunset light. It is a mistake, his voice getting stuck somewhere in his throat. 

“I’ll be here in the morning to pick up your sister’s ball dress so you can bring it back and work on it in proper light.” Astrid says. 

“You don’t need to.” Tuff replies, not sure he wants Astrid tramping into the twins little attic bedroom, looking at their patchwork covers and sad half stuffed pillows. He doesn’t want her there at all. 

“Of course I don’t  _ need  _ to,” Astrid says and reaches out, catching his chin between her fingers and thumb, tilting his face so she can press a kiss high on his cheek, “silly boy.” 

Ruff saw everything from the window, her grubby little face in the moonlight, full of an evil kind of grin greets Tuff as he comes inside. He takes one look at it and bolts up the staircase, Ruff hot on his heels and the both of them laughing, uncaring as Uncle Dregnutt yells at them for “scuffing the floor!” She catches up with him halfway to the attic and jumps on his back, arms around his head, trying to make him trip. 

“Oh! My little brother is growing  _ up! _ ” She crows, although they are the same age and that is  _ twenty  _ and not children at all. 

“Get off,” Tuff laughs, trying to elbow her in the stomach, wriggling away and he really does trip, the both of them sprawling out on floor boards. For a moment they lay there, laughing until someone down stairs pokes the ceiling above yelling. They scamper up, still giggling and run the rest of the way to their room, forgetting about any chores that are left over. 

In their room, Ruff flops onto Tuff’s bed, still laughing and settles in, propping herself up on the pillows. Tuff pulls out the hidden supplies, the pieces of Ruff’s ball dress. When she looks at him strangely, he grins still breathless. He has so many exciting things to say, a chance to  _ really  _ make this dress and he’s about to burst with them when he sees Ruff looking pensive. 

“Do you remember when we were really young?” Ruff asks, tone soft. “We went to the market with our mother, perhaps the first time and I wanted to walk because I was a big girl, but you clung to mama’s arms, eyes wide and there was this stall with chicks for sale. They were meat chickens, and when you realised what was going to happen to them you managed to jimmy open one of the locks and set the chicks free.” 

“No,” Tuff says. He wishes he did. Ruff says she remembers things that are like the wispy edges of dreams to Tuff because she’s the big sister, she’s gotta look out for Tuff. He doesn’t know if that means she’s making stuff up or not. 

“Well you did.” Ruff laughs, “it was  _ chaos!  _ I was so proud, and there were chicks everywhere, the market goes running around trying to catch free chicks, or get money in return for bringing them back and there was one little chick that was too quick for even the cobbler’s sons, so they let it go, writing it off as alley cat food. When we stopped for lunch the little chick came peeping out from between some handwoven baskets and climbed into your lap. Mama let you keep it, and you named it Chicken.” 

“This kind of sounds like a lie,” Tuff says and Ruff smiles, and well. Tuff hopes it isn’t. 

“I don’t know what it is, but I haven’t seen the boy who would talk to chickens and feed the mice in a very long time.” Ruff muses, “I missed him a lot.” 

“I’m right here, Ruff.” Tuff says. She turns again, sleepy already and smiles. 

“You sure are.” 

  
  
  


****

  
  


Astrid arrives at the Thorston house at sunrise and Tuff’s already ready, supplies packed up in a basket he stole from the kitchens. Ruff had helped, but she wasn’t careful with the pins and pricked herself enough times she got mad and stomped off to do chores. Still, she pops up when a knock on the front door rings out and Tuff, 

“Good morning,” Astrid says, smiling. She looks down at the basket Tuff has with a question in her eyes. Yes, Tuff goes to say, this is it, but in that moment Ruff pushes him. 

“Good morning!” Ruff pops up from behind Tuff, elbowing him out of the way. 

“Ah, you just be the honourable Ruffnut.” Astrid says, easy, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Ruff laughs, taking the hand Astrid holds out and shaking it firmly. Tuff expects her to laugh, say something like  _ all bad things, I suppose _ , but instead Ruff grins, sharp. 

“What are your intentions with my brother?” She demands, hands on her hips, looking very much the picture of a bossy mother in her washing up apron.

“Ruff!” Tuff whines, shoving her to the side. 

“This morning, I’m walking him to his apprenticeship.” Astrid smiles back, teasing, 

“Have him back before seven pm, miss.” Ruff tutts, making a hand motion that’s somewhat threatening. Perhaps it would be more so if she had a wooden spoon to complete the overbearing mother look. 

“Yes ma’am.” Astrid agrees, smothering a laugh that’s quite obviously dancing around the edge of her mouth. 

Tuff grips Astrid’s elbow and tugs her away, looking back at Ruff’s cheeky wave to give her a glare. They’re a fair way down the road before Tuff realises he’s still holding onto Astrid’s arm and he lets go, cheeks burning, turning his attention fully to the basket. 

“I’m sorry about Ruffnut,” Tuff says, awkward. He’s not sure if it’s worse if Astrid takes it at face value, or if she thinks it’s just a joke. 

“She’s nice.” Astrid says simply. It’s not something very many people say about Ruffnut. Mean, and rude and a little foul tempered maybe. Even when Gustav had a crush on her he waxed poetic about the time she made the potato farmer’s son cry and her impressive frown. Ruff is many things, but mostly only a few to others. 

“She’ll have your head if she heard you say that about her.” Tuff replies, matter of fact. 

“I bet she would,” Astrid laughs, “you know, she should come to lunch some time. I’m sure the lads would love to meet her.” 

“She can’t.” Tuff says. 

“Oh.” Astrid hums. Tuff back tracks. 

“I mean, she has chores. Which always take all day. And also my chores, because I spent all day at the seamstress instead. So she has to spend all day at home doing chores and doesn’t have time to come to lunch.” He explains, all in one breath and has to take a really deep one at the end. 

“Do your cousins do chores?” Astrid asks. They’ve reached the shop and Astrid holds the door open, bell tinkling 

“I don’t know.” Tuff says. He imagines Gruffnut helps with his horse, and the girls probably do  _ something _ , even if he can’t think of anything off the top of his head. 

“And your allowance is only enough to buy a couple of candles? Would you say your family is poor?” Astrid continues, shutting the door behind herself. She’s got that look on her face like when she’s not impressed by a squire squabbling with another. 

“How do you know that?” Tuff asks, confused. 

“You mentioned it once,” Astrid shrugs, opening the back door and pulling out another dressmaker’s mannequin to hand Ruff’s Ball Dress on. The first time Tuff had realised there was a set of mannequins for display and pinning against it was purely by accident, and completely terrifying to see what appeared to be headless figures looming out of the darkness. 

“Okay.” He says. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Astrid doesn’t press, so he doesn’t reply and a moment later Ms Hofferson comes in, tray of herbal tea. 

They spend the rest of the hour setting up the right shoulder width of the mannequin, hanging what Tuff has already put together of Ruff’s dress, pinning things in place. Ms Hofferson makes quick stitches that can easily be pulled out and when Tuff stares at her hand movements she slows down so he can learn it too. Astrid leaves them part way through, kissing her mother’s cheek and ruffling Tuff’s hair, promises to be done early today. 

The dress is half done, neat folds to hide the seams, soft pinks and creams, a touch of light brown. Ms Hofferson clicks her tongue, standing back and taking it in, before disappearing into the corridor. She returns with a bolt of silk, pure as freshly fallen snow and hands it to Tuff. 

“Here,” Ms Hofferson says, “this’ll go perfectly - and we just got a delivery of kermes, you can use some of that.”

“No, no, I can’t take this.” Tuff says. It’s the end of the roll, but it’s still far too much. A metre would be too much. The scraps are waste, they are  _ saving  _ money, in a way, he can’t take this. The cost must be astronomical. 

“You’ll need an underlayer anyway,” Ms Hofferson replies, and when she looks at Tuff’s face she softens, “if it matters to you so much, I can take it out of your wages.” 

“Please.” Tuff says, letting out a breath. He puts the silk down, holding it too much if he thinks about it again. 

“Silly boy.” Ms Hofferson says, and then brings over the scrap basket for them to look through properly. She leaves Tuff to colour matching, pinning up sleeves for Druffnut’s dark mauve dress and hemming the last couple of commissions. The Ball is only a week away, the tension of something exciting happening, like when it’s festival time, building around the town. The seamstress shop is still full of mannequins, a few final touch ups or extra beads or some embroidery to be done. The midnight blue dress that Tuff hasn’t seen a single woman try on, sparkling with the silver stars Tuff had spent hours helping to embroider is done, centre stage in the window space. It’s beautiful, the blue inky and the stars perfect and he  _ really  _ wants to see it being worn, the flow of fabric over footsteps. 

Tuff loses time to going through the basket and picking out scraps; cutting and pinning in place. Ms Hofferson helps a couple of times when he needs extra hands, and to show him the loose holding stitch. It is peaceful, it is chaotic and he doesn’t realise how long he’s spent putting Ruff’s dress together until Astrid raps him on the shoulder, offering a cup. He starts, unsure when Astrid got back, but the bell on the door had gone off several times during the morning so he must have started tuning it out. 

“What’s this?” Tuff asks, looking at the clear syrupy liquid, not the normal concoction of herbal tea the Hoffersons drink. And then, “what’s the time?” 

“Sugarcane juice,” Astrid says, sipping her own drink. “Some knights brought it home from a raid. It’s kind of like sweet beets, except it’s a really tall grass.” 

“It’s lunch time dear,” Ms Hofferson replies, words tight and when Tuff turns to see if she’s okay it’s just that she’s holding several pins in her mouth. She pins out the pleat of a dress for a woman who asked to look like a stained glass window. “Astrid brought pie.” 

“Pie?” Tuff perks up, pinning his latest piece of cloth in place. There is now two thirds of a dress, 

“Beef pot pies and a couple of slices of blueberry lattice.” Astrid clarifies, handing her mother a cup of the sugarcane juice, “the palace kitchens are a buzz, and they’re trying out some foods for the Ball. We’ve been put on hold except for rosters to allow for decorating.” 

For a moment, Tuff imagines all the knights, in full armour, hanging up looping silken fabric drapes and doing flower arranging and giggles. Their arms and legs clanking as they lay out currently and taste test tiny little cakes with pink drip icing. And then, the time sinks in. 

“Wait, it’s really lunch time already?” Tuff asks, taking a sip of the sugarcane juice. It is cold and sweet. He takes another sip. “I’ve been working on Ruff’s dress all morning, I’m sorry. I should have helped with embroidery of other dresses.” 

“You know that aside from a few touch ups most things won’t take long. Spend the time you need getting your sister’s gown as far a long as you can.” Ms Hofferson says. 

Still, Tuff spends the afternoon making sure the ruffles of tulle of Saffnut’s dress sit perfectly. His cousins and aunt have been in multiple times to test the dresses, Tuff quiet as Aunt Huffnut criticises how he holds things and getting him to leave the room when they change. That’s what the changing panel is for, but relieved Tuff fled to the kitchen and had scones or fruit with Astrid instead. Their final test is in three days’ time, and Tuff’s working up the courage to ask if Ruff can come too under the pretence that he wants to show off his work. The girls' dresses have to be  _ perfect  _ so they don’t notice twins sneaking off to the side to look at Ruff’s dress. 

At the end of the day, after Saffnut’s dress is sitting perfect and Druffnut’s final little cross bone is stitched and Ms Hofferson’s gotten the wiring inside of Fluffnut’s bow, Tuff has a  _ whole dress.  _ He steps back, eyes blurry with tears and tiredness and bumps into Astrid, mumbling an apology as he looks the dress over critically. 

“Wow,” she says, and for Astrid it’s a compliment. As much she is her mother’s daughter, and objectively understands the time and effort going into these things, her criticism and praise is blunt. A well made thrust and parry, or good form when throwing a punch bursts forth sonnets from her mouth. It’s alright, Tuff appreciates the  _ wows  _ and the often repeated  _ that looks great! _ All he can say about sword work and fighting form is that it looks beautiful and deadly and oh? Is that a swoon?

“It’s not finished.” Tuff says. It’s  _ whole  _ but it’s like a patchwork quilt. Frustration bubbles in his gut. Only embroidery is going to be it’s saving grace. 

“Your eye for colour is unparalleled,” Ms Hofferson says, joining them. “And it’s matched so beautifully - next we must line it with the silk and you can start the embroidery.” 

“Thank you,” Tuff says. It will take painstaking hours, but Ms Hofferson doesn’t offer to help with the details. She knows how important it is for Tuff to finish this himself. 

“You can sneak out, yes?” Ms Hofferson asks, hands on Tuff’s shoulders. 

“Sneak out?” The drop from their attic room is high, but of course both Tuff and Ruff has snuck out of it many times. 

“You will go home, finish your chores and eat your dinner and go to bed. When you’re sure it is safe to leave, you sneak out of your bedroom. Astrid will be waiting, a street over and you will have half the night to work on your dress, as long as you like.” She says and Tuff turns, wrapping his arms around Ms Hofferson’s waist to hug her tightly. 

When he tells Ruff of the plan to sneak out she laughs, and calls it a midnight tryst and pinches Tuff’s cheeks in imitation of Gustav’s grandmother. They eat dinner in their room again, the extra candles Tuff’s been able to afford lighting up the space between them like it’s cozy and warm. It’s nice, a fantasy of a world where it’s just the two of them, no less a struggle but a struggle of their own making, their own destiny. 

“When I’m Queen,” Ruff says, voice teasing like she doesn’t truly believe it, “I’ll make it illegal to make your niece scrub floors. Scrubbing slate is for evil old aunts only.” 

“And cantankerous old uncles?” Tuff laughs, but he’s serious in a way. His chest feels light, like for the longest time something had been weighing it down and he’s only just realising now he’s free it was there at all. 

“And lying, cheating cousins.” Ruff agrees easily, nodding. She lays there for a long time, just humming a song that sounds kind of familiar, but Tuff doesn’t want to ask just in case it’s something he feels left for not remembering. “Is it time to head off yet?” 

“Don’t say embarrassing things in front of Astrid,” Tuff says, remembering the burning shame from Ruff’s cheeky comments this morning. “I know you’re not going to see her now, but for the future. She’s twenty-three and a  _ knight _ .” 

“The woman forces you to make friends, gets her family to feed you and generally looks after you, asks you lots of questions about your interests, and walks you home to make sure you’re safe? And you’re embarrassed because I’m making  _ my  _ statements clear?” Ruff rolls her eyes. She stands up though, opening the awkward, stiff lock of the window and pushes it to swing open. 

“I’m serious Ruff, you don’t know all the cool people she knows.” Tuff says, stepping out of the window. It’s a balancing act until the arch so he doesn’t let go of the window sill. 

“Oh shut up and go on your midnight tryst.” Ruff shakes her head. “If you come in through the front door in the early morning they won’t even notice you were gone.” 

“Bye Ruff,” Tuff says, “sleep well.” 

Astrid is a block away, knife in her hand and she grins when she sees Tuff, bright in the night. When he nears she reaches out, looping her hand through his arm, holding onto an elbow and he resolutely tries to ignore anything Ruffnut said just before. Astrid doesn’t put away the knife, flicking it up and down so it catches the light as they pass a corner that’s notorious for muggings. A man makes as if to follow them, but Astrid turns, still holding onto Tuff and he loses his nerve, stepping away. Astrid puts the knife in a scabbard when they get into a more well lit area with merrier drunkards. 

“Get away okay?” She asks, leaning in close and Tuff thinks about anything other than the feel of her breath on the side of his neck. 

“The roof incline is quite sharp but I’m used to it.” Tuff scraped one knee, but it’s nothing to complain about. 

“You climb the roof of that death trap your family calls a house?” Astrid laughs, incredulous. “You brave, silly boy.” 

They stop at a tavern two blocks from the seamstress, three lidded tankards ready for them. The barkeep waves Astrid off when she tries to pay, so she leaves the money tucked behind a sad looking pot plant and makes Tuff take a sip before he carries his tankard back to the shop. 

“Mama, I brought you an ale,” Astrid calls as she steps into the shop, putting one tankard down on the desk and takes a large swig of her own. She goes about light a couple of extra candles, making the shadows of the mannequins creeping at the edges of their vision disappear.

“Fantastic,” Ms Hofferson says, coming through the back door with a tray of cookies, “shall we get to work?” 

“Thank you,” Tuff says and both of the Hofferson women sush him, clinking their tankards together. 

They work until early in the morning, Astrid holding things out of the way when needed. Ms Hofferson cuts the silk to shape and helps Tuff pin it in place, handing things off to Astrid when they need an extra set of hands. She makes sure they finish their ale before it gets too warm, bringing in hot tea once their drink is finished. She takes a couple of power naps when she isn’t needed for a while, Ms Hofferson goes to bed once things are basically in place, kissing both Astrid and Tuff’s foreheads. Tuff works and works until he’s dead on his feet, fading fast and Astrid loops an arm around his waist. 

“Come on sleepy baby,” she murmurs, locking up the front of the shop and pushing the equipment to the side. “I think you need to rest.” 

“I’ve got to finish it,” Tuff says. Astrid gives him a squeeze, taking the last tiny stick of a candle along with her back to the house. 

“It’ll be there in the morning.” She promises, locking doors behind them. The house is dark and quiet and Astrid directs him further along, past the washroom to a bedroom. She sits him down on the bed, dipping to one knee to help him take off his shoes. “Do I need to get you up at a certain time to be back to your house?” 

“Mhmfph.” Tuff says. He pauses to think. He and Ruff had planned that he’d be back, but would it make a difference if he wasn’t? His family often rises later than an hour after sun rise. “Can we send a letter, just so Ruff knows I’m okay?

“I’ll get a note delivered.” Astrid promises, stripping back the sheets to help Tuff to bed. Tuff settles down into it, turning his face towards Astrid as she strokes some of his hair out of his face. “Good night.” 

“Good night.” Tuff says, soft. He hasn’t quite realised how sleepy he was until Astrid had dragged him away, and now curled up in blankets he feels himself already drifting off. 

When he wakes the sunlight lapping at the edges of his awareness, filtered through a lace curtain and it’s not at all like his room that he wakes properly with a start. For a terrible minute, he can’t see Ruff and a million horrible things percolate through his mind and then his eyes land on a suit of not quite fully shined armour. It’s Astrid’s armour, he remembers the dent in the breast plate and takes a deep breath. Of course Ruff isn’t there, she’s at home, probably scrubbing floors by the angle of the sun already. 

On further inspection - of the swords hung on the walls, a couple of throwing knives on the bedside table, and the brief view of the closet with one door ajar - it is, in fact Astrid’s room and Tuff jumps, almost afraid to touch anything. Her sheets are a deep indigo, soft with wear and the bed stuffed right, soft underneath him. It was the best sleep Tuff can remember in years, and he’s almost too afraid to turn down the sheets in case he somehow ruins them. Still, manners preside, and he makes the bed before heading towards the kitchen. 

“Astrid?” Tuff asks, hearing the sound of someone moving and when he turns to the 

“Good morning sleepy head,” Astrid says, brewing something that smells strong and bitter. She looks tired, smudges under her eyes and her hair all falling out of her normal braid. She looks beautiful, soft morning light, and a crooked little smile. 

“Where did you sleep?” He asks, 

“The settee,” she smiles, taking a sip of the strong drink. Tuff looks at it, dark brown in Astrid’s mug and she hands it over for a sip. It is more bitter than it smells and Tuff chokes on it, Astrid laughing as her fingers brush his to take it back. 

“I’m sorry,” Tuff says. 

“Why?” Astrid asks, preparing some herbal tea instead, two mugs out on the counter. She measures with special spoons, putting different herbs into a strainer. 

“It mustn’t have been nice sleeping on the settee.” Tuff reasons, standing across from her, hands twisted with nothing to do. 

“It’s actually very comfortable for a settee.” Astrid offers a wry smile, and then looks up through her eyelashes, “are you offering to share my bed?” 

If Tuff already had his herbal tea he would have spluttered it across the kitchen bench, so instead he chokes on air, the taste of the bitter drink in the back of his throat. Astrid startles, knocking one of the mugs over as she reaches to help, although what she thinks she can do is unclear. Tuff steps back, still coughing, hands in the air like he’s trying to calm her, or maybe himself or  _ something.  _ If she touches him right now, even a smack to the back, he might self combust. 

“Good morning,” Ms Hofferson says, coming through the door with her market basket of goodies, “oh dear, is everything alright?” 

Later, as Tuff’s sitting in the window next to Ms Hofferson embroidering Ruff’s dress with the silver thread he bought she retells the moment with hilarious happenstance. It had been embarrassing, choking on nothing, on the thought of waking with another person beside him, and for Ms Hofferson to see it too, but she speaks with such jovial inflection that the broken mug and the herbs all over the counter and Astrid’s face becomes funny. Tuff pricks himself laughing, missing the thimble completely and has to stop to bandage his thumb to stop blood beading up. 

“Anyone would think I’d walked into something I shouldn’t have!” Ms Hofferson laughs, 

“Ms Hofferson?” Tuff asks, quiet in the mid morning light. She looks at him softly, her whole face kind and for the millionth time he wishes that his mother was alive, that he could sit in the morning light with her and sew too. That he never had to go home again, that Ruff could join them, and she would go to knight training with Astrid in the mornings, happy. He doesn’t know what he wants to ask, if maybe she’ll adopt him, if he can stay forever, if maybe, just maybe Astrid might like him the way he likes her, even though he’s just Tuffnut Thorston. 

“Yes dear?” Ms Hofferson prompts, but the bell hanging above the door rings and the moment is broken. 

Astrid returns at lunch, looking much fresher than she did in the morning even though her hair is windswept and wild. She brings fancy sandwiches with thinly sliced lobster and radish and it’s the most expensive, delicious thing Tuff has ever tried. She went horseback riding, and Tuff’s eyes go wide, remembering the horse he saw the very first day and asks questions until Astrid laughs him off, promising to take him to royal stables one day. She distracts him by asking about the dress, and he’s done about a fourth of the embroidery, hyper focused when Ms Hofferson spoke to customers and it’s  _ beautiful.  _ He’s actually going to be able to finish it. 

The next two days go quickly, a blur of needle pricks and knotting threads and holding things just  _ so  _ to make everything right. It is early mornings with Astrid and her bitter drink, their chairs at the kitchen table knocked together as they share a plate of scones, Ms Hofferson’s gentle words as she tells stories of dresses past. They have lunch together, and sew by candle light and Tuff feels stupid and brave and like nothing in the world is going to go wrong. He sees Ruff for a couple of hours a night, telling her about the silver vines that creep up the dress, of the beetles and bees and flowers, of how it sparkles in the light. Tuff finishes the final knot on Ruff’s dress just as Ms Hofferson closes up shop the day before his cousins are due in for a final fitting and he can barely believe it. 

“It’s done.” Tuff breathes, mostly to himself but Ms Hofferson hums, a question in the noise and Tuff repeats “it’s done.”

“Oh!” Ms Hofferson says, coming over immediately to look at it, standing next to Tuff and staring. She doesn’t say anything, like the words aren’t enough, and Tuff can’t find any either, so they stand in silence, Ms Hofferson reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tightly. They stand together, holding each other up until the back door opens with a bang and Astrid pops her head around it. 

“We don’t have anything for dinner - how about the tavern,” Astrid starts, and then realises something, “oh.” 

Astrid comes through the door to stand next to Tuff. She takes his other hand, but doesn’t squeeze like her mother, just holding on, strong, sturdy. They look at the dress, soft pinks and cream and light brown, silver bows of a tree full of life, green in the leaves. Tuff can’t believe he made that with his own two hands. 

“It’s beautiful.” She says. Tuff sniffles, surprising himself and Ms Hofferson gathers him up into one of her famous hugs.

“Things are going to be  _ okay,”  _ Tuff says. Ms Hofferson hugs him tighter, reaching out and Astrid joins in, wrapping her arms around the both of them. 

“Well, we definitely should feast at the tavern.” She adds, her chin purposely digging into Tuff’s shoulder to make him squirm and dig his elbow into her. 

Astrid puts a cloak on, and gets one for her mother before they lock up and make their way to Astrid’s usual tavern, lidded tankards in hand. The barkeep grins when he sees them, reaching over the bar to kiss Ms Hofferson’s hand and ushers them into a little booth near a rowdy game of poker and the live band. Astrid orders them all the stew, promising that it’s good, 

“Just wait for the pie,” Ms Hofferson says, accepting another tankard full of ale from the barkeep’s scrawny son. “If you though the palace’s pie was good just you wait until you try Phelgma’s!” 

“I  _ can’t  _ wait!” Tuff replies, grinning. Pastry is a luxury the Thorstons don’t waste on the twins, lest of all good buttery pastry, so he never looks a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Like pie from the Gods,” Astrid agrees, throwing back the last of her first tankard for the barkeep’s boy to take away. 

They chatter, eating a delicious pheasant stew with a rich gravy and root vegetables. Half of the conversation is lost to the sounds of the band, and of the poker game going badly, people getting up to dance. It’s noisy and a little deafening, but everyone is happy, even the man forking over the shining gold coins and Tuff grins until his mouth hurts, squished between the Hofferson women. 

“A toast,” Ms Hofferson announces, just as the pie and new tankards of ale arrives, “to the best apprentice a woman could have, for all the hard mornings, and the knotted threads, and the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, made of scraps, but now shines of silver.” 

“To Tuff,” Astrid adds, holding her tankard up, “may he buy his wretched family out from their own home and get them to scrub floors instead.” 

“Amen.” Ms Hofferson says, although he hadn’t thought her particularly religious and the Hoffersons clink their tankards together, knocking against Tuff's before tipping them back. Tuff takes a large sip and then holds his tankard up again. 

“A toast,” he says, “to the kindest, most golden hearted people I know, who took a chance on me when I didn’t deserve it, and continued to prove .” 

“Didn’t deserve it.” Astrid scoffs but she knocks their tankards together and throws back the rest of her ale like she’s drinking with the rest of the knights. Sometime, maybe soon in the future he’ll go out to dinner with Astrid, Eret, Heather and Snotlout, and maybe even Dagur. Then he’ll see what they’re really like. 

The pie is everything that was promised, flaky golden pastry and a rich blueberry inside and Tuff melts as he eats it. One day, he’s going to bring Ruff here, and buy her a piece of this pie and that’s how they’ll know they’re okay, they’ve made it. Not the dress, or becoming queen, or any sort of fancy title. A piece of really great pie and his sister, and no family to go home to be screamed at. 

“Dance with me,” Astrid says, right into Tuff’s ear and he’s had more than enough ale to think that’s a good idea. Ms Hofferson nudges Tuff, and he takes Astrid’s hand to be drawn out to the throng of people making drunken, happy fools of themselves forgetting how to line dance. 

“I don’t know how to dance,” Tuff says and Astrid puts his hands on her waist. 

“Neither do any of these people,” she laughs, bumping with a man with frizzy brown hair who grins at her and winks at Tuff and then falls flat on his face. “Just, follow me.” 

They try to join the awkward line dancing that’s going on, spinning around and getting new partners in a completely random way. Ms Hofferson joins in for a while, laughing good naturedly at all the missteps, shows a shy young woman what to do if a man steps on your foot. They give up on the line dancing, and Ms Hofferson shows Tuff a waltz that doesn’t go with the music, but she picks up speed that’s too fast for Tuff to follow as Astrid and the girl spin around until Tuff feels dizzy from watching them. Eventually they spill out onto the street, full and happy and Astrid offering to walk the girl home to make sure she’s safe. 

“Take Tuffnut,” Ms Hofferson says, linking arms with the girl, “we’ll be alright, won’t we dear.” 

“It was nice to meet you all,” the girl smiles and Astrid gives her a hug. She may be shy, but Tuff suspects in the next intake of pages and squires the girl will be there. 

“Have a good night.” She says, “take care Mama, I’ll be home soon.” She links her own arm through Tuff’s. They walk home mostly in silence, Astrid making a show of her knife as she usually does two blocks away. 

They stop in front of the Thorston house, quiet and Astrid lets go of his arm. Tuff misses it’s warmth, but thinking soon maybe they won’t have to wear coats very much longer and he heads up the steps to go to bed and get some well deserved sleep. If all is quiet he might steal to the kitchen and drink some water before he goes to sleep. 

“Tuff,” Astrid says, and Tuff stops, looking at her. She’s all sweaty, cheeks red from ale and dancing, scar obvious even in this light, and every time he looks at her she’s more beautiful.

“Thank you for the nice night.” Tuff says and Astrid reaches out to take his hand again, stepping up onto the same step although there’s barely room for the both of them and presses the soft whisper of a kiss to his mouth. 

“See you tomorrow,” she says, squeezing his fingers and turns to walk back. 

Tuff stands on the steps until he can no longer see her or the glint of her knife, fingers touching his lips where she’d kissed him. The skin prickles, like her breath had been a brand and he steps up to the Thorston house in somewhat of a daze, struggling to open the door. Thankfully, no one is waiting for him, or saw and he breezes up stairs to his room and falls into bed with his normal clothes still on. Ruff perks up, looking over so he wriggles until he can take his shoes off but all the excitement and the fun catches up to him, dozing off soon after. 

The next morning Tuff has to stay quiet on the carriage ride over because the partition is open again but he successfully talked Aunt Huffnut into bringing Ruff to the girl’s dress fighting and they’re squished up next to the carriage driver. He’s almost bursting with excitement, shaking with it and Ruff has to keep nudging him to calm down unless someone suspects something. 

“Good morning,” Ms Hofferson says, opening up the shop and the girls flock around their dresses immediately, excited squeals filling the air. 

“Good morning,” Tuff says, bright and cheerful, and he completely misses Aunt Huffnut’s strange look. 

“It’s very nice to meet you Ms Hofferson, I’ve heard so much,” Ruff says, holding out a hand in mimicry of when she met Astrid. Ms Hofferson surprises her by taking the offered hand in both her’s squeezing them tight like it’s one of her all encompassing hugs. 

“And I many wonderful things of you.” Ms Hofferson says. 

“Mama! I want to try mine on first!” Fluffnut demands, breaking up the moment. She’s clinging to the pink dress, huge bow that took Tuff and Ms Hofferson hours to get to sit right under her arm. 

“Of course,” Aunt Huffnut says and Fluffnut squeals, Saffnut pouting as she points at all the ruffles of her dress. “Boy, you know the drill.” 

“Yes Aunt Huffnut,” Tuff agrees and then grabs Ruff’s arm and pulls her through the back door. It’s all noise and squealing and arguing until the door swings shut behind them and it’s just Ruff and Tuff amongst the fabric. 

“Are you ready?” Tuff says, bursting with excitement he can barely keep still. 

“I can’t believe you  _ actually  _ made a dress.” Ruff replies, and she lets him nudge her onwards to the Hofferson’s house, demanding she should close her eyes but the door’s sort of tricky so she ends up opening them anyway and obviously Astrid hears them because she opens the door and they end up falling into the room with a loud thud. 

Astrid laughs, holding out hands for the both of them, pulling first Ruff who looks behind her, and then Tuff. She dusts him off, an excuse to brush at his shoulders and Tuff looks up, blush high on his cheeks and not sure what to say after last night’s almost a kiss when Ruff gasps. 

“Is that for  _ me _ ?” Ruff asks. 

“Sure,” Astrid says, turning around and Tuff looks at his sister and the joy and confusion and excitement on her face. The dress is set up in the middle of the room, where the best light is and it  _ glows _ . Tuff can’t believe it himself. 

“Of course! Who else?” He says, he laughs. There’s still a day or two until the Ball but it feels like it’s already been, like their life has already changed. He’s going to burst. 

“It’s just, a lot.” Ruff says so Tuff pushes her, and she lets out a yelp of “Hey!” but she reaches out and touches it and now,  _ now  _ it’s real. 

“Try it on.” Astrid says, and well, Ruff doesn’t need to be told twice, disappearing into the depths of the house somewhere with the dress. 

And then, it’s just Tuff and Astrid. The room settles, the excitement in Tuff’s gut still churning away but now it’s good and bad, excitement and worry. He might be sick and that would be the worst thing to happen right now. 

“Tea?” Astrid offers. The light made the dress glow, but it’s not very bright where Astrid’s standing, her face in shadow and looking stark, sharp. Every time he looks at her, he loses his breath. 

“I don’t think Ruff will like it very much.” Tuff says. He wants to ask,  _ did you mean it _ ? And then not hear the answer because he doesn’t want to know if it’s a no. 

“That’s okay,” Astrid smiles, and she turns to put a pot of water on the fire and takes a step but then stops. 

“Astrid?” Tuff says a moment of quiet silence and she twists, turning back to Tuff steps forward, resting her hand against his collarbone, fingertips on the bare skin of his neck and kisses him. 

It’s soft, like the first kiss and Tuff gasps, feels for a one ridiculous moment like he’s going to swoon. Astrid pulls back for a second, smiling and brings her other hand up to the other side of his neck and tug him back in, kissing him again. Tuff feels stupid, and clumsy and doesn’t know where to put his hands and Astrid has to stop kissing him she’s smiling so much. 

“You’re overthinking,” she says, like it’s something she finds endearing, like they’ve had this conversation before. 

“Overthinking  _ what _ ?” Tuff replies, because he’s barely thinking at all, not with her hand cupping his neck or how he’s sure she can feel the beat of his heart, too fast, under her palm. She smiles again, or maybe she hasn’t stopped, and being this close reminds him of last night, of dancing at the tavern and he curls his hands over her waist. 

“Mm,” Astrid hums and leans back in, kissing him open mouthed, fingers scratching the back of his neck soothingly. Tuff sinks into it, letting Astrid take the lead and thinking he could do this for hours, for days. 

“Well okay!” Ruff announces. “Did  _ not  _ need or want to see that!” 

They break away, Tuff stumbling back and Astrid whirls around, startled. It’s silly, but it makes his stomach flip flop; Ruff was obviously trying on the dress, they knew she would come back. For Astrid to be startled, that takes a whole lot of distraction. 

“Ruff!” Tuff says, both a yelp and a squeak because oh, gross his sister saw him and oh, she’s wearing the  _ dress  _ that’s going to steal the Prince’s heart and then she’s doing to live happily ever after. 

“It fits  _ perfectly _ ,” Ruff says, “I look like a Queen already.” And then she throws her arms around her brother and squeezes him tight for a moment. “I can’t believe you made this for me.” 

She shows it off for a moment, twirling in a mockery of what she knows Fluffnut will be doing and then feels self conscious, worried about stepping on the hem and ripping it. When Ruff goes to change back, this time Astrid does put on tea and the three of them sit in the kitchen. As predicted, Ruff hates the tea so Astrid offers the bitter smelling liquid she drinks really early and Ruff nurses it like a really good ale. 

The moment is so magical in a way, exactly like every single one of Tuff’s farfetched fantasies, warm sunlight through the window and two of his favourite people chatting that he doesn’t notice the door open. Ruff and Astrid are in a heated debate on the usage of weighted lances in jousting, Astrid deadly serious about how it’s cheating and Ruff laughing, edging her on, joking. It’s not until the second  _ Rip!  _ of fabric does it make sense to Tuff, the first lost in Astrid’s laughter as she realises Ruff’s just bluffing her. He turns, almost dropping his mug as his hand falls to the table, staring at Druffnut with a pair of scissors in her hands. 

_ “What are you doing?”  _ Astrid demands, standing up so fast she knocks the table, Tuff’s mug toppling over and pouring hot tea over his legs. He feels like jelly, wordless, too hot as Ruffnut and Astrid yell, Astrid’s hand going around Druffnut’s forearm to yank the scissors away. Druffnut is big for her age, and she’s easily stronger than Tuff but without a second thought Astrid twists her arm, forcing her to let go of the scissor and then up behind her back. 

“What the  _ fuck,”  _ Ruff demands, shrill. She sounds like she’s going to fly off the handle

He stands up, knocking the table too, another wave of hot liquid. His trousers are covered, he probably won’t get the stain out. He looks down at himself, unable to make himself look over at Ruff’s Ball dress. 

“Ruff,” Astrid says, careful but voice hard, “I’ve got her.” She can probably hold Ruff off and keep her grip, but she doesn’t sound like she particularly wants to. 

“Horrible little gremlin.” Ruff spits. 

“Mama will throw you out the house for that,” Druffnut whines, struggling in Astrid’s grip.

“Good. Then I’ll never have to see your ugly little jealous face anymore.” Ruff snaps. 

They frog march Druffnut out of the house, down the corridor of fabric to the shop. Ruff holds the doors, and Tuff kind of floats down it, unsure of how to react, thinking about the stain of the bitter drink has ruined his only good pair of trousers, thinking about anything except whatever Druffnut and a pair of scissors could do to a dress in twenty seconds. 

“What are you doing to my  _ baby!”  _ Aunt Huffnut demands, voice high and affronted and sickenly fake. Tuff looks up, and her cane is wildly wave about like she might just want to hit something. 

“Your  _ baby  _ was trespassing into our house and damaged priceless materials.” Astrid snaps. She lets go of Druffnut, pushing her towards her mother. 

“You did it on purpose.” Tuff says. Aunt Huffnut looks at him, shrewd. “You knew about the dress. You let Ruff come because you knew I would show her, and you sent Druffnut to spy on us.” 

”I don’t know what my poor angel Druffnut did, but it’s hardly worth bruising her poor delicate skin.” Aunt Huffnut says. Tuff hates her more than he’s ever hated anyone. 

“That’s enough.” Ms Hofferson says. Saffnut is in her dress still, frills and tulle everywhere, eyes sad. “As much as she didn’t mean to, we can’t just have people going into our house and breaking things. I’ll ask that you pay for the damages cost, and take your dresses now.” 

“That’s fine,” Aunt Huffnut says even as Saffnut whines no one has looked and admired at her dress yet. They leave with the dresses in cloth bags to protect them from the dust, Gustav’s suit still not tried on, and Saffnut hovers for a moment, but doesn’t stay when Tuff doesn’t look up. 

“She meant it.” Tuff says, the door swinging shut behind his family and Ms Hofferson pulls him into a hug. 

“I know dear, I know.” She says, hugging Tuff tight and then pulls back, brushing his hair out of his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up and see the damage. I’m sure we can fix it.” 

“You embroidered it once before,” Ruff offers, a crooked smile as Astrid locks up the shop, putting a closed sign out. The walk back down the corridor is too long, thoughts of worst case scenarios brewing in Tuff’s thoughts, and too short, getting to the door far too quickly for Tuff to be ready. Ms Hofferson opens the door. 

It looks worse than Tuff thought, an entire jagged seam ripped, a piece almost hanging loose. One sleeve has cuts up it, choppy and rough, the collar pulled away from the eyelets. There’s embroidery thread on the ground, beads spilling over the rug and Tuff’s going to be  _ sick.  _ He turns, rushing across the house to the bathroom. A moment later Astrid peers around the door, stepping into the room to rub Tuff’s back as he dry wretches. 

“I have a pair of trousers you can borrow,”she offers, “I’m not sure if they’ll fit but it’s worth a try. There should be a belt.” 

“Okay,” he says. He feels stupid and weak; stupid for thinking Aunt Huffnut didn’t know, for being excited about the dress, for thinking it’s going to all work out, weak because it’s just fabric. Astrid’s probably seen dead bodies, maybe even dead friends, he can’t even stomach a torn piece of silk. 

Astrid helps him to her room, and rifles through her closet to pull out a pair of russet brown trousers. They’re soft, worn in and she presses a kiss to his brow as she leaves to the room to let him change. They’re too big, Tuff has to roll the cuffs and find a belt, but he feels a little more human once he’s out of the wet trousers. His legs are a little pink, but not burned, so that’s all well and good, and when he returns to the kitchen area the dress is cleaned up and out of sight. The broken mug and the puddle of tea are still there, Astrid down on one knee, moping it up. 

“Tuff,” Ruff says, stricken. Astrid looks up. They both look like they have a lot to say, like an apology is on the tips of their tongues. 

“I’m so sorry sweetheart,” Ms Hofferson beats them to the punch, curling Tuff up into another hug. He feels despondent and stuffy, like he’s already cried himself out, nose blocked and cheeks red. Ms Hofferson lets him go. “I was so busy with all those rowdy girls I didn’t realise the big one had disappeared. 

“It’s okay, it was a silly dream anyway.” Tuff says. He shrugs off Astrid’s hand and dodges Ruff’s arm. “I’m going to head home, and get some rest.” 

“Alright,” Ms Hofferson says, “see you tomorrow morning.” 

“Sure.” Tuff says and Ms Hofferson beams. They let him walk home, no need for Astrid and her knife in the middle of the day. A kid runs past, nearly tripping Tuff and he stares as they chase a little dog across the street, yelling. He thinks about the dress and tucks his hands in the pockets of Astrid’s trousers and picks up his pace. 

Aunt Huffnut is waiting for Tuff, just inside the Thorston’s house and she pounces the second he closes the door. He steps back, purely by accident and neatly sidesteps the swipe that startles him, movement like a cat with a cornered mouse. 

“You’re not as stupid as you look boy.” Aunt Huffnut says, standing up tall like a moment ago she wasn’t feral, going for the kill. “You were so very dimwitted as a child, talking to that ragged old chicken like it could understand you, and saying the mice fouling the wheat had feelings. It’s a wonder you’ve got a single brain cell to rub together, it’s your wretch mother you have to thank for that, if you have anything to thank her for.” 

“And you’re just as much of an old hag as you look,” Tuff replies, surprising himself when his inner Ruffnut comes to the forefront. Still, even with the remark about his mother, he feels despondent and doesn’t flinch when Aunt Huffnut grabs his arm. 

“If I knew where that insolent girl’s letter was I would tear it up, but I don’t so you might as well do it yourself. It would be a stroke of kindness, even though it’s a masquerade ball a mask can’t cover that kind of ugly.” Aunt Huffnut snears, looking every bit the hag Tuff said she was. He hates her with every fibre of his being. 

“You’re wrong.” Tuff says. “You’re wrong, and you know it, and that’s why you’re so threatened.” 

He tugs his arm out of her grip with such force he sends himself tumbling back over the steps like when Druffnut had pushed him at the start of all this. Aunt Huffnut stands over him, imposing, frail. She looks scared, she looks mean. She looks like if Tuff pushed her just a little too hard she’d break a bone. He gets up. 

“If you don’t mind, I have chores to do.” He says and Aunt Huffnut wavers, perhaps a glimmer of kindness and Tuff is tired of this. Tired of his family, tired of the floors, thinks of how even without the dress he’s got a good paying job, learning a trade. He knows knights and people who know the King and Queen. He turns to go to the laundry to pick up the cleaning supplies. 

“Good. And do your sister’s too. No more slacking off.” Aunt Huffnut yells at his retreating back. If he was Ruffnut, he would give her a rude gesture, but he just ignores her. 

  
  


****

  
  


It is way past an hour past dawn by the time Tuff gets up the next morning, the day before the Ball and he feels weird. Ruff has left a note on the rickety basket that serves as a table in their room, scribbly little words scrawled in a hurry.  _ Jerkface,  _ it reads,  _ feel free to sleep in, but don’t forget your job! I’ll do your chores. The Hoffersons will cry if you don’t come back.  _ It is punctuated with a little drawing of a winking face and he smiles. They’re all right. The dress was freedom, it was going to be their saving grace, and although he mourns the hours and days, the sacrifice and the work, it’s up to him now. 

Ms Hofferson beams when she sees Tuff, eyes flicking up at the sound of the bell and Tuff smiles back. She puts her embroidery down to draw Tuff into another one of her legendary hugs and Tuff thinks one day maybe he’ll be drawn in so tight he’ll fuse with her warmth and joy. 

“Oh dear,” she begins but Tuff squeezes her tight. He doesn’t want to talk about it. “Will you help me with the gold work on Prince Hiccup’s jacket? 

“Of course.” Tuff says, and their day falls back to a normal day in the seamstress and it’s so, so nice. They embroider in the morning, take customers until lunch and then walk to the palace grounds to sit with Astrid and her friends. 

The training grounds don’t look like they’re for fighting practice anymore, a giant sheer piece of sparkly tulle over the space, held up by decorated logs, covered in flowers and greenery and candles. It looks beautiful, it looks romantic. It looks like the knights are frustrated not being able to practice on the lawns. 

“I’ve just got to deliver this waistcoat.” Ms Hofferson says, lifting a patchwork bag and Eret takes her basket of food from her. Snotlout peers at Tuff’s, so he hands it over and the group except Astrid go to claim somewhere to sit. 

“Are you feeling a bit better?” Astrid asks, cupping his face and Tuff can’t help but snort at her bluntness. She probably speaks the same way to her training group. 

“Yes,” he says truthfully and Astrid draws him into a lingering kiss. They only break apart when Snotlout starts hollering, and a sharp wolf whistle pierces through the air. When Tuff looks, it’s Heather who’s grinning evilly. 

“I’m glad.” She says, and then tugs him by the hand to go sit with their friends before they eat all the food. 

In the afternoon Tuff and Ms Hofferson head back to the shop to work in some finishing touches and then on a sampler of rope stitch. The familiar routine is comfortable, like a well worn pair of shoes and Tuff is glad. He asks about his trousers and Ms Hofferson laughs, saying they're drying. She had to dye them, the stain of Ruff’s bitter brown drink too persistent so she hopes he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t. 

They work until closing time, customers coming to pick up their orders. It’s busy, but it’s nice and Tuff manages to upsell a couple of pairs of silk gloves he had practiced neat little stitches on. Ms Hofferson is impressed. 

“Come in tomorrow too,” Ms Hofferson says, “clothes don’t sleep for anyone and we still have more pickups. I’m afraid we might have to do some very last minute alterations. There are always people who don’t think the thirds every night since their fitting might change a thing or two.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow.” Tuff agrees, giving Ms Hofferson a hug as he passes. The sun is still quite high, and Tuff sees the same kid and the same dog as yesterday and it’s  _ nice _ . 

He and Ruff stay up late anyway, imagining what wonderous things will be at the Ball. The training yards are for meeting guests, canapés and slow dancing, the palace ballroom is probably where the important people truly are. Ruff thinks they sip from chalices made of diamond and gold, wine thick and sticky like honey. Tuff bets their clothes are metres of cloth, ruffles and petticoats and thread spun with real silver. They fall asleep imagining, voices getting softer and softer. Maybe, tomorrow, they’ll try to sneak in anyway, pretending to be servers. 

Ms Hofferson is right about the next day, a line up of people outside the door as Tuff arrives for set up. They’re run off their feet, Astrid staying to help all day and they only have one moment, tucked away behind the changing panel as Astrid says hello, hand on Tuff’s hip, kiss brief and warm. At lunch time the knights bring them food in a strange turn of events that has Astrid laughing. They all help for a little while, ringing up customers that don’t need alterations when Tuff and Ms Hofferson are pinning up new pleats and letting things out. 

“See you tonight,” Snotlout says when they leave, clapping Tuff on the shoulder. He has spent the last half an hour pestering Tuff about how good a kisser Astrid is, and Tuff has only barely suppressed the urge to tell him he doesn’t actually want to know. That Tuff knows it’s a thinly veiled request to ask about  _ Tuff’s  _ kissing technique. 

“Okay.” Tuff says, confused. When he turns to Astrid she’s making strange threatening motions at Snotlout. “That was weird.”

“Snotlout is strange,” Astrid agrees. He’d ask more but then his attention is diverted by another customer. 

It’s past dinner when the second to last dress leaves the shop, hanging from an elegant woman probably twice the age of the prince and going just for the food. Tuff slumps over the desk, sighing loudly and Ms Hofferson laughs. She feel the same way because she’s been sitting down for the last hour. 

“The midnight blue dress is still there.” Tuff says, wondering. It’s easily one of the most beautiful, meaningful dresses he’s seen. Surely someone would want to snap it up, that the buyer would have come to pick it up. 

“Oh, that’s Astrid’s.” Ms Hofferson says and Tuff snaps towards Ms Hofferson, mouth wide. It’s a stupid reaction, but the thought of Astrid, midnight blue so dark it’s almost black, night sky on her dress under the candle light of the marquees in the training grounds just might make him faint. Of course it’s Astrid’s. 

“It’s nearly time”, Tuff says, just as the front door bursts open, doorbell clanging wildly. 

“Delivery!” Ruff yells, holding up a handful of lidded tankards. She goes as if to shake them, but thinks better of it and hands a tankard off to Ms Hofferson, Astrid and then dumps one in front of Tuff. 

“How’d you get out of chores?” Tuff asks, standing up to pick up the tankard. 

“Aunt  _ Hagnut _ and the girls have gone. Who’s going to stop me? Our Da?” Ruff laughs, “Besides, your girl sent me a letter to come.” 

Tuff turns to look at Astrid, about to ask what that’s about when his eyes catch something behind her. There’s another mannequin out, a dress hanging on it, silver thread and in-depth embroidery and, 

Oh. 

“Is that Ruff’s dress?” He breathes. It’s only sheer willpower that he doesn’t drop the tankard. He steps forwards. 

“It’s not my best fix, but I did a lot of beadwork to cover the worst of the damage.” Ms Hofferson says, “the sharp lines of the scissors were tough, and silver on pale colours is a bit harder for me now in candle light but I think it’s passable.” 

“You fixed Ruff’s dress.” Tuff says, and then throws himself at Ms Hofferson, holding the tankard away but wrapping her up in a big hug. Ms Hofferson laughs, hugging him tightly. 

“And, I hope you don’t mind, but you had those lovely mother of pearl buttons in your embroidery kit, and I added one to the latches.” Astrid adds and Tuff turns to throw himself at Astrid. 

When he can pull himself away he steps forwards to the dress, reaching out with one hand to touch, almost afraid it’s not real. It is; soft and silken under his hand and Tuff might  _ cry _ . He can’t believe it’s real. He inspects where he remembers tears and cuts, and being so close he can see where it’s been fixed, but if this isn’t Ms Hofferson’s best work he wonders what is. 

“Ruff, what are you  _ waiting for?  _ Get dressed.” Tuff says, no demands. 

“Bossy.” Ruff says, but she’s looking a bit misty eyed too. She holds up her tankard, like a mimicry of Ms Hofferson the other night and Tuff follows her. “To Tuff, the best annoying little brother in the world.” She says simply, not waiting for anyone else and taking a big gulp of her ale. 

“To Tuff,” Ms Hofferson repeats, “for his big heart and all the love he shares, for his talent and joy of cloth work.” She takes a drink too, Ruff following. 

“To Tuff,” Astrid joins in, and then smiles wickedly, “for not kissing and telling, especially to Snotlout.” 

“Hear, hear!” Ruff calls out, throwing the rest of her ale back. Astrid looks at her, impressed and when Ruff holds her empty tankard up to knock together Astrid does, tipping her ale back too. 

“Well,” Ruff says, but then darts forwards to touch the dress and tugs the mannequin back out to the Hofferson’s house to get changed. 

“Aren’t you going to get ready too?” Ms Hofferson asks, waiting until Tuff’s finished sipping his ale before asking him. 

“I was hoping you’d be my date.” Astrid adds, like it shouldn’t be a surprise. It is. 

“A date to a ball that’s about finding the prince a wife?” Tuff asks, and Astrid laughs. She dips to kiss his cheek and takes the midnight blue dress carefully off its mannequin. 

“Hiccup couldn’t make me his wife if he  _ tried _ ,” Astrid says, a bit like he wouldn’t anyway. Tuff doesn’t know what that means. She disappears out back too, picking up a pair of shoes that clearly are meant to go with Ruff’s dress. 

“Besides, I don’t have anything to wear.” Tuff adds. He might like to go to a Ball, especially on Astrid’s arm. 

“Of course you do,” Ms Hofferson replies, nonchalant. “I made you some dress clothes. I have your measurements, remember? The very first day we met when you modelled for your cousin?” 

“You  _ what?”  _ Tuff says. Ms Hofferson smiles, and holds her hand out so Tuff follows the motion, stepping around the changing panel and behind it is a mannequin, a crisp white suit with white work so delicate it’s enough to faint over and a matching midnight blue tunic, stars embroidery on the hems. “Ms Hofferson!” 

“Try it on dear!” Ms Hofferson calls, her smile in her voice, “we need to check that it fits properly.” 

Ruff and Astrid come back when Ms Hofferson’s putting a quick pleat in the back of his tunic. Ms Hofferson nudges him when he moves, reminding him of the needle in the tunic, pins held between his teeth. He looks up, a delicate filigree mask pressed to Ruff’s face that looks like it cost a fortune. 

“Oh!” She says. “Thank God. After all the work you’ve done, I’m glad you’re coming to the Ball too. I’m not sure you fit the right criteria!” She laughs and no one else does. 

“I’d hardly let him not.” Ms Hofferson agrees, tying a neat little knot. Ruff nods, turning to Astrid. 

“You better treat my brother right or else I’m coming for you.” Ruff threatens. 

“Of course,” Astrid agrees, laughing, “you don’t need to threaten me every single day.” She presses her own mask to her face, tucking the ribbon under her hair, something as deep blue as her dress. “Ready?” Tuff takes the offered matching mask, tucking it over his face and Ms Hofferson ties the ribbon for him.

“You all have fun now,” she says, sweeping first Tuff, and then a surprised Ruff, and finally Astrid into big hugs. 

There’s a carriage waiting outside, far fancier than the Thorston’s carriage and for a second Tuff nearly steps up to sit with the driver. Embarrassed, he coughs, opening the door for his sister and Astrid. Ruff clambers up, too excited to wait, slightly loudly as she sinks into the padded seats. Astrid pauses, dipping to press a kiss to Tuff’s mouth. The masks are kind of in the way, clacking together and the kiss lasts less time than Astrid clearly wants it to. 

“You look very handsome,” she says, finger tips against his collar, straightening the already perfect collar in an obvious excuse to touch him. Tuff wants to say something back like  _ everytime I see you it’s like I’ve forgotten how to breathe  _ but it gets caught. 

“You two better hurry up!” Ruff calls, “I’m doing you the favour of pretending you’re not doing anything unsavoury behind the door, so hop to it!” 

Astrid laughs, pulling away and gets up into the carriage. Tuff follows her, shutting the door behind himself and the driver clicks the reins, setting off. Tuff slips, not quite ready for the movement and sits down heavily next to Astrid, hand on her thigh. Tuff blushes but Astrid knocks their feet together, looking sideways at him with a smile. 

“We have to be back by midnight.” Ruff says, looking out the window.

“Midnight?” Tuff asks, then it hits him. They’re  _ going  _ to the Ball, they’re really, really going. 

“That’s when our family will start coming home. No later than midnight.” Ruff shrugs, careful. She runs her hand down the skirt of the dress, fingers caressing the embroidery. They can probably hide the dress in their room until Tuff can sneak it back to the Hofferson’s. 

As they arrive at the training grounds, candles lighting the carriage’s way through the palace gates, a herald announces them as Sir Hofferson and guests to anyone nearby. Astrid steps out first, taking the driver’s offered hand and turns to her friends already waiting nearby. Ruff is helped by the driver too, for a moment looking like she’s going to scoff at the offered hand and then she smiles, taking it. Tuff follows, directing his sister towards the knights. 

“Wow,” Snotlout says, a tad too appreciative, “you scrub up nice.” 

“Thanks,” Tuff says, unsure how else to reply. Astrid’s hand snakes around Tuff’s elbow and she leans in. 

“Find your own date,” she remarks, tucking her chin over Tuff’s shoulder. If he wasn’t mistaken he would think it was defensive, possessive, in a way. He doesn’t acknowledge the shiver it sends down his spine. 

“Hi,” Ruff says, and Tuff turns to introduce her to the knights; Snotlout in deep red, and Eret in a blue and even Dagur, in forest green, but he realises she’s holding her hand out to Heather, fluttering her eyelashes. Heather is in a suit too, a traditional black and white number, and she looks very dashing indeed. All the knights are wearing matching masks to Astrid’s, just different colours. 

“You must be Ruff,” Heather says, taking Ruff’s hand. They both linger a little too long on the handshake. 

“I sure am.” Ruff smiles, “Tuff never told me he had such a beautiful friend.” 

“Okay!” Tuff says, “are there tiny little canapés? I wanted to try more pie too.” 

“There’s like twenty types of pie,” Dagur pipes up, both because he loves pie just as much as Tuff and because that’s also his sister.

“It must be nice to turn up and get food instead of having to bring it.” Snotlout remarks, leading the way towards where they’d normally sit and instead of benches and knights with swords it’s full of Lords and Ladies in beautiful attire, dancing and drinking champagne under the muted star light, candles flickering shadows across. There are at least twenty types of pie, and tiny little cakes as far as the eye can see, smoked salmon on little pancakes and big bowls of a smoky liquid full of fruit. 

“Do you all know where Hiccup is?” Astrid asks, a few moments later, dropping her hand from Tuff’s elbow to hold his hand. It makes it hard to eat the pie, but it is clearly more important than eating pie. 

“Inside, moping about.” Eret says with a snort. 

“Of  _ course _ .” Astrid rolls her eyes. She squeezes Tuff’s hand, tugs him on. “We’ll be seeing you guys later.” 

Forlornly Tuff gives his pie to Snotlout, following Astrid along. She steps with purpose and it’s only as they go to step around a huge ball gown that they realise Ruff isn’t following, still flirting with Heather boldly. 

“Ruff, come on.” Tuff says, he gave up  _ pie _ for this. The least she can do is follow. 

“Bossy.” Ruff huffs as she catches up with them. 

“Hiccup’s going to be meeting a lot of people,” Astrid adds, “it’ll be good practice to get him to see you several times.” 

“Don’t you like, know him?” Ruff asks, “surely you could have introduced us before.” 

“I’m introducing you now,” Astrid says, “the Ball organisation has been full on, if you’re your charming self and leave a big impression this’ll be more of an introduction than I could have given before. I hardly had a reason to bring you before, the Ball is a perfect excuse.” 

They weave around people to get into the palace proper, gardens lit up with an abundance of candles. There’s a live band, playing soft music to dance to, couples already joining. Astrid pushes along, stepping around a herald standing in the doorway to the ballroom who huffs, but then realises it’s Astrid even with a mask on and bows as they pass. He announces their presence, a few nobles stepping out of their way as Astrid strides forwards. 

The Prince is sitting up in a throne to the right of the King, head in his hand and looking very bored. To his right stands a large man in finery, clearly whispering to the Prince from the way the Prince’s head is turned, and how he covers his mouth every so often, not completely hiding a smile. The line of women introducing themselves to him aren’t phased, perhaps they can’t even see the Prince ignoring them, too close to see anything but their nervousness. He’s in the suit jacket Tuff embroidered, and Tuff’s stomach flops as they get close. Both because that’s the  _ Prince,  _ Ruff is going to meet the Prince in the dress he made, and everything’s going right, and the Prince is wearing something Tuff made. He squeezes Astrid’s hand. Astrid squeezes his hand back. 

The man standing says something, loud enough that the King turns his head and the Prince looks up and looks directly at them. He holds up a hand, stopping the poor girl who’s curtsying half way through and she wobbles, confused. Pushing himself up the Prince says something, words lost under the music and he strides down the podium, ignoring the line and coming straight towards them. Astrid stops, letting the Prince reach them. 

“Sir Astrid,” He greets them, and even if he hadn’t come from the throne and didn’t have a crown on his head Tuff feels like he’d know who he is. The jacket gleams, perfect with his royal purple 

“Prince Hiccup.” Astrid smiles. “You look very bored.” 

“Don’t let him fool you, but Sir Fishlegs is quite good at animated commentary.” Prince Hiccup laughs. Astrid does too, although differently. 

“Only you would think Sir Fishlegs is  _ animated _ ,” she says, and Prince Hiccup smiles even brighter and then then turns to look at Ruff. She puffs herself up, standing still and opens her mouth to speak when Prince Hiccup does first. 

“Would you like to dance?” Prince Hiccup asks, holding out a gloved hand to her. 

“I can’t dance.” Ruff says, her entire charming self and oh,  _ gods _ this is the one thing Tuff forgot, humiliation bubbling in his gut. He doesn’t know how to dance, how did he forget that Ruff wouldn’t either? 

“I can teach you.” Prince Hiccup says, smiling and Ruff, smiling too, takes his hand. They step away, to where others are dancing and Prince Hiccup puts his hand properly on Ruff’s hip and laughs as she does the same thing. 

“Well,” Astrid says, “that went well.” 

“I can’t believe,” Tuff says, choking up on how well this is going. It is everything he imagined, every silly little dream and it’s going  _ perfectly.  _

“Dance with me?” Astrid asks, and he nods. Astrid smiles and pulls him out to the dance floor, putting her hand on one of his hips and he takes the cue and puts a hand on a shoulder, linking their other hands. 

Inside, the dancing is very formal and Tuff’s thankful for Ms Hofferson’s impromptu waltz lesson in the tavern but he’s still not very good. Astrid doesn’t seem to mind, rolling her eyes when someone tries to pass onto her and shifting away. They dance until they’re bored of the stiffness, one glance Ruff’s way before they leave. Ruff is talking animatedly with Prince Hiccup and Sir Fishlegs, the both of them looking at her intently and they leave her to it, stealing out into the night. 

They stop to fill up glasses with the fruity, bubbly drink and sip them as Tuff finally gets to eat some pie. They eat their fill, turning their backs with a muffled laughter as a woman who’s obviously Aunt Huffnut stomps through the area to the ballroom, three little ducklings following her. Despite everything they’ve ever done to him, Tuff is glad his cousins’ dresses look nice. Saffnut kind of looks like a puffy flower, but in the candle light the tulle sparkles and she looks happy. Fluffnut’s dress is pretty, her bouncing along and the bow does too, and Tuff’s struck by how young she really is. Does Aunt Huffnut really think a man Prince Hiccup’s age would look at her and not see a child? Druffnut looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Come on,” Astrid says, and instead of back to the training grounds she turns a corner and they’re in the palace gardens, under an arch way of blooming wisteria. The scent is sweet, soft and perfume-y and Astrid reaches to push his mask away from his face, fingertip brushing his cheeks. “That’s much better.” 

“The mask is nice,” Tuff defends Ms Hofferson’s choice. It reminds him of Astrid’s dress, and he  _ likes  _ that they match. Perhaps more than necessarily he needs to. 

“Sure,” she agrees, “not as nice as your face though.” Which is too much of her; flattery that makes him flush and Astrid smiles, cupping his face and kisses him. 

The kiss lingers, open mouthed and Astrid presses into him, her mask knocking against Tuff’s nose uncomfortably. Tuff pulls back, looking at her. With the mask on her scar is hidden, the angry red line of it gone and it doesn’t feel right. Even though they’d stuck close all night, men had been falling over themselves to talk to her and he doesn’t have to wonder, her dismissive tone of voice, to know the attention isn’t there where they can see it. Fools, all of them. Tuff wonders how she got it, what fight they had, how lucky she was not to lose an eye. Astrid looks back, and then quirks a smile, letting go of him to reach up and undo the mask’s ribbon. 

“That’s better,” Tuff says in a mimicry of her moments ago, and in a surge of braveness he reaches up to touch Astrid’s face, caressing fingers over the scar.

“Even with the scar?” Astrid says, cupping her hand over his and pressing his hand to her cheek. 

“Especially with the scar.” Tuff says. 

“Once upon a time I had a suitor,” Astrid says, words soft like it’s a secret, “and he was very attentive, and kind to my mama and used to bring me flowers every day and do all sorts of ridiculous romantic things. There were a few but he was the most attentive. And then, one day I came home from a simple protective duty that went wrong, face bandaged up and he asked my mama if I was okay, and she said it would probably scar and I never saw him again. The others, they slowly stop coming too.” 

“Fools.” Tuff says, unsure how to process the story but Astrid smiles and turns his hand so she can kiss his palm and then presses forwards to kiss him properly again. 

They kiss until Tuff is dizzy with it, perfume of the wisteria surrounding his senses and Astrid warm in front of him. Eventually, they pull away, smiling, and go back to the party to find the knights already several ales into drunk. Dagur’s lost his mask too, and he grins, happier than Tuff’s ever seen him and even Heather is happy when he throws an arm around her, singing. They dance, laughing and drinking the fruity bubbly drink and eating little cakes until the big old clock in the palace strikes midnight with a heavy dong and Tuff almost drops his drink. 

“It’s midnight!” Tuff says, frantic, “I have to go!  _ We’ve  _ got to go! I have to find Ruff!” 

“I’m sure Ruff can handle herself,” Astrid reasons, and well, that’s very true. He’d seen her a couple of times in the crowds, her dress sparkling in the light and often with the Prince. He stops, glancing out across but he can’t see her, and well, it’ll probably take more time than they have spare to even start looking for her. 

“Can we leave her a message if she’s not in the carriage?” He asks and Astrid nods, taking his hand. The carriage is ready when they reach the gates, and Tuff drops Astrid’s hand to rush forwards. She’s not in the carriage and Tuff turns around, ready to despair but Astrid’s talking to herald, gold coins in her hand as she asks to leave a message for Ruff. 

The driver doesn’t ask if they’re ready to go, just sets off as Tuff shuts the door behind Astrid, the both of them on one side of the seats, pressed close. There’s a bump as they leave the palace grounds, and then the quiet clip clop of horse hooves on cobblestone streets. Tuff sighs, sinking into the very comfortable cushioned seats. 

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Tuff says, feeling a little bad. Aunt Huffnut had stalked around the place, Tuff hiding behind his friends a couple of times when she went past. Maybe she’d caught Ruff? “But I’m worried anyway.” 

“I know, it’s okay to be worried.” Astrid says, and he’s infinitely glad that’s the comfort she gave. He turns to kiss her on the cheek. 

In the end they could have spared a couple of minutes to look further, and Tuff feels bad but Astrid was right, Ruff can look after herself. She’s probably joyfully skipping home right now, on the lookout for the Thorston’s carriage. Tuff looks up out of the carriage window at his home and doesn’t know how to feel, bubbly and too happy he can’t believe it. Once he gets inside, successfully fooling their family, their world is going to  _ change.  _

“Can you hold it a moment?” Astrid asks the carriage driver and steps out of the carriage behind Tuff. They stand on the steps to the Thorston’s house.

“Thank you for the wonderful night,” Tuff says and Astrid smiles, stepping up onto the same step as him even though there still isn’t really enough room for the both of them. 

“You’re the most extraordinary person Tuffnut Thorston.” Astrid says, it’s cold out now they’re no longer surrounded by millions of candles and dancing bodies giving off heat. Her breath comes foggy, a last bit of winter’s chill before spring really sets in. “I think you know that, but I hope now you believe it. You could make anything you’d ever want to happen.” 

“You’re too kind.” Tuff says, because that’s not true at all but it makes him feel warm to think that she thinks it. Astrid brushes her hand over his forehead, pushing stray hairs out of the way. 

“Trust me,” she says leaning in until the words are breathed against Tuff’s mouth, “no one has ever said that about me before.” 

She kisses him like she wants him to swoon, jelly legs and desperate hands gripping at the fabric of her sleeves. If the steps would allow it, Tuff almost feels like she’d dip him, and he shivers with it, looping his arms around her shoulders. Astrid holds him and kisses him like there’s nothing she’d rather be doing and he never wants to leave the moment, ever. She does, however, need to breathe and regretfully pulls away. The sound of a carriage further down the road changes the moment, and Astrid only leans in for one more kiss, until it becomes two before she makes herself step back down a step. 

“Sweet dreams.” Astrid says, kissing him briefly one last time and Tuff stands on the step like the first time, fingers pressed to where her mouth had been. 

“Sweet dreams,” Tuff says back as the carriage takes off, back to the Hofferson’s house. He sighs, loudly, smiling and then all but  _ floats  _ inside, up the staircase to his little attic bedroom. He flops into bed, sitting in the midnight blue tunic and sighs again, unable to stop himself from smiling, touching lips again, some part of him still somewhat unable to believe the circumstances. 

He’s drifting in and out of sleep, warm and happy when Ruff bursts into their room. She’s glowing with happiness, her hair messy and grinning. She looks like she had the best night of her life, and oh, Tuff understands. 

“I just beat them!” She says, laughing and then falls on top of Tuff, squishing him purposely. 

“They’re back?” Tuff asks, he hadn’t heard the carriage or the doors, but that’s not unusual up in their little attic room.

“I rode on our carriage home, with the driver!” They had no idea!” She laughs, throwing her arms and wriggling. Tuff shoves at her until she’s no longer squishing him. She lays next to him, elbow poking into his side. 

“We did it.” Tuff says, and he can’t keep a stupid, big smile from growing up his face. He shouts, “we did it!” 

“We did!” Ruff grins, and then her smile fades a little. She sits up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Tuff sits up too. 

“Ruff?” He asks, cautious. 

“There’s just  _ one  _ thing.” She says. She shrugs, and gets up off the bed. “It’s not a big deal, or it kind of is? Maybe. It sort of ruins your plan.” 

“What do you mean?” Tuff isn’t sure if he wants to know. Things are  _ perfect,  _ he’s fought so hard for it, he doesn’t want it ruined. 

“The Prince is gay.” Ruff announces. 

“What?” Tuff stares at her, his radiant sister, missing her shoes, dress torn on one side at the hem. That doesn’t make any sense. Astrid is  _ friends  _ with the Prince. Good friends. Surely she wouldn’t have let Tuff toil over a dress that doesn’t  _ matter. _

“He likes other men.” Ruff clarifies, like Tuff doesn’t know what gay is. “He wants to bone the bone, suck the -“ 

“I get it,” Tuff interrupts, holding his hands up, “he likes men.” 

“The whole Ball thing was his parents trying to force him to marry because “bloodlines” and shit.” Ruff shrugs, but she doesn’t look unhappy. “He’s cool though. He’s got a boyfriend, he’s that guy who was at his side the whole time, ‘Legs, the librarian’s squire or whatever. They can’t exactly produce an heir so they keep it a secret from the King and the Queen.” 

“Oh.” Tuff says, good mood soured, stomach rolling. He turns so his hair falls down so she can’t see his face. “Well, I’m very tired, I did lots of dancing and drinking. I need to sleep. Good night Ruff.” 

“Good night Tuff,” Ruff says, confused. 

Somberly Tuff takes off the midnight blue tunic , folding each line with care. If it was not made for him by the best seamstress in the kingdom, perhaps he would tear it, the satisfying rip of fabric fibres pulling it apart to quell his anger. Dressed in his night clothes, he curls up under his too thin blanket and cries. 

The next morning Tuff just puts on the apron he made to mop the Thorston’s floors, and cleans until well past an hour after dawn, not saying anything. Ruff prompts him, ten minutes to but Tuff shrugs. He doesn’t say anything, focusing on the scuff mark Uncle Bognutt made a few days ago he still hasn’t quite gotten scrubbed out. It is two hours past when a loud knocking bellows through the halls of the Thorston house, and Tuff resolutely ignores it. The rest of the family is likely asleep, coming home much later than Tuff had, rowdy and loud and drunk on the royal’s champagne, but Ruff goes to answer it. 

“You’ve got a lady caller,” Ruff teases, jabbing an arm into Tuff’s side with a grin. Eventually she had gotten a mumble about Tuff’s night at the Ball, but her further teasing had fallen on mostly deaf ears. A  _ knight in shining armour  _ she’d laughed, but when Tuff had just rolled over she’d stepped back, gripping at her dress. Tuff is still in the same dour mood. 

“I don’t want to see her.” Tuff replies. He goes back to scrubbing. The knocking starts up again, louder and Tuff grips his sponge, resolutely ignoring it. 

“I can tell her to leave,” Ruff says, soft. Tuff can barely  _ stand it _ . If they’re not careful it really might wake someone. Tuff squares his shoulders and stands up to answer the door. 

And there she is, standing on the steps she kissed him on the first night, and last night and Tuff feels sick. He wants to tell her to go away, but the words get clogged up in his throat. Astrid smiles, like wild flowers in a meadow on a sweet spring day, stepping forward, hand up and for one stupid moment Tuff forgets himself. Her fingers brush his cheek and he steps back, flinching and Astrid stops. 

“You knew the Prince was gay.” Tuff says. Astrid blinks, dropping her hand. He thinks about how he would have swooned last night in her arms, and how  _ angry  _ he is. 

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” Astrid replies, careful.

“But, you let me slave over Ruffnut’s dress for hours, for days, fingers worn to the bone, eyes strained and tired, and you never even  _ tried  _ to dissuade me. You knew my dream to save my sister was hopeless but you let me dream it anyway.” Tuff says, trying to be calm but his hand shakes as speaks, tears threatening to fall. “You could have said  _ something! _ ” 

“Tuff.” Astrid says. The hand that was going to cup his cheek goes to her forehead, dragging up into her hair in frustration. “I can’t just go around telling strangers that Hiccup is gay. It's rude, anyway, and it’s not my story to tell. I didn’t know you at the start, who knows what you could have done with that information!” 

“You could have said something, anything! It didn’t have to be that he was gay!” 

“And what could I have said?” Astrids demands, “You sacrificed so much for this, so determined you slowly stole scraps of material that anyone else would throw out and spent your nights patching them together. Nothing I could have said would have dissuaded you, and the sister you fought so hard for? You think you would have taken kindly to me suggesting she wasn’t good enough? That there was no way Hiccup would see her and fall in love with her? I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry that it wasn’t going to work out, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth, but I couldn’t break your heart like that, telling you that you and your sister weren't good enough. I couldn’t be like your family.” 

Astrid is right, and she’s  _ wrong  _ and if she had told him it wasn’t worth anything, no matter how many stitches he learnt or how many times he pricked himself, or his panic and loss when his cousin tore up the dress he would have listened. He would have believed her, no questions asked because her beautiful face, her soft laugh, the scar under her eye, her strength, how much she loves her mama, her fiery determination had made a fool of him. And how a fool he must have looked, wishing for a better life on a dream that she knew was stupid. Did she laugh, with her knight friends? With the Prince himself? Poor little Tuffnut, gone on Astrid’s smile, thinking his embroidery could win his sister a gay man’s heart. 

“Thank your mother for me.” Tuff says, cold. “And don’t come knocking again, please.” 

He only barely manages to shut the door with a steady hand, determined not to slam it lest it wakes someone up and Ruff’s standing there, expression gentle. As long as he’s known his sister - his entire life and her’s too except the fourteen minutes and thirty nine seconds between their births - she’s never looked so soft. Tuff bursts into tears. 

“It'll be okay.” Ruff says. She sits down against the door, directing Tuff down to sit too. He sprawls, learning towards Ruff. 

“I can’t go to work.” Tuff sobs, resting his head on Ruff’s shoulder. Normally, she’d complain about the tear stains, and the snot, but she just strokes his shoulder. “If I have to see her again, to know that her and all the knights might talk about me? Laugh at me? I would die. And, I don’t know if Ms Hofferson knew too, but she might have. I’m sorry, I didn’t save much of my salary.” 

“It’ll be okay,” she repeats, “we’re Thorstons. We’ve survived every other little thing that’s ever been thrown at us, we’ll be okay.” 

  
  


****

  
  


It is Gustav - as it should be; beginnings and endings are much the same thing - trying to talk Tuff into buying overripe pears, that informs him of the Prince’s search for a wearer of a pink silk slipper. Tuff drops a pear, staring at Gustav, and it smashes into the ground so hard little bits of pear go flying. 

“Gross.” Gustav says, and then, quickly, “you’re paying for that.” 

“The Prince is  _ what?”  _ Tuff demands.

“You know,” Gustav shrugs, still fascinated with the squashed pear, toeing it with one booted foot like one might poke a dead thing with a stick to see if it’s still alive. “That girl in the patchwork dress of silver the Prince spent half the night with? He’s like totally in love with her and all he has left of their moments together is like her shoes so he’s going around to every household on the guest list and getting the women to try on the shoes.” 

“That’s stupid,” Tuff replies. “Surely lots of women have the same size shoe.” 

“That’s love, for you.” Gustav nods, like he’s not seventeen and has a single ounce of understanding of what love is. 

Which doesn’t make any sense because Ruff said, and Astrid confirmed, that the Prince is gay. The Prince has a boyfriend, some nerdy librarian or something. Sir Fishlegs, Tuff thinks his name is, although he’s not sure how he got the Sir in front of his name. The Prince is  _ not looking  _ for a wife. 

“The girl was Ruff.” Tuff says. 

“That was me what?” Ruff asks, piping up behind Tuff. She looks at the pear on the ground. “That pear is so unsanitary Gustav, didn’t your mother teach you how to clean?” 

“Tuff dropped it,” Gustav whines. He doesn’t pick it up, wrinkling his nose. 

“The girl the Prince spent hours with at the Ball.” Tuff interrupts, “the one who lost her shoes, and now he’s looking for her. That’s you.” 

“What?” Ruff says. “Of course that’s me, do you have memory loss? Did you see him hanging out with any other hot women?” 

“Well, he wants to marry you.” Gustav shrugs, “can you pay for that pear now or what?” 

“Tuff.” Ruff says. She grabs Tuff by the arm and drags him off. “We’re NOT paying for that pear Gustav, don’t sell shitty fruit.” She yells, throwing up a rude gesture with her fingers. 

“I’ll put it on your tab!” Gustav yells back. 

“Does the Prince have any idea of who you are?” Tuff asks, demands,  _ begs.  _ “Surely in the hundreds of women in this town at least one other might have the 

“Of course he does.” Ruff snorts. “I took my mask off, didn’t I? I wasn’t going to meet a  _ prince  _ and not make sure they wouldn’t remember my face.” 

“But not your name?” Tuff doesn’t get it, and definitely doesn’t want to  _ hope _ . 

“He knows my name, it’s just a pretense probably.” Ruff shrugs, “maybe his parents are forcing him to get married.” 

It takes three days, Tuff counting every second, tracking the spread of rumours to where the royal family has been. There’s several women who the shoe fits, but Prince Hiccup asks where the dress is, do they understand a joke, so they know who ‘Legs is and no one can answer him. Each moment Tuff feels more excited, more sick, more worried. Each time someone knocks on the door his heart beats double time, fingers trembling. The Prince is looking for them. 

Tuff’s washing the mezzanine floors, working on another boot scuff he’s starting think are done on purpose, when there’s a very loud pounding on the doors and when Saffnut opens it, a skinny man in grey pantaloons lifts a trumpet to his mouth and plays out and entering March as the King and Queen enter the building with an entourage of knights. 

Aunt Huffnut comes running, skidding to a halt in a way that looks like she’s going to fall over and segue ways into a bow. Druffnut and Fluffnut fall into line, Gruffnut behind them. The girls curtsy, falling over themselves to be perfect. Tuffnut creeps forwards, just to see around the top bannister to watch, sitting on the step and just out of sight from the people below if they’re not really looking. 

“Your Majesties,” Aunt Huffnut breathes out, voice wheezing. She curtsies this time, awkward in her pencil thin dress. 

“Yes, yes,” the King says, dismissive and the man in the pantaloons steps forwards. 

“Announcing, his royal highness High King Stoick the Vast, and her majesty Queen Valhallarama.” He bellows, enough the words rattle around the echo-y front chamber of the Thorston’s House. “And finally, his royal highness Prince Hiccup.” 

Behind the King and Queen, the Prince is surrounded by his own entourage, Dagur behind his left shoulder, Eret at his right. Heather and Snotlout form the front part of the protective detail, the four of them stepping in perfect time with each of the Prince’s movements. To the side is Astrid, her ceremonial armour sparkling in the light, and Tuff hates how his stomach flips at seeing her, hands out flat and carrying a blood red velvet pillow. On it are Ruff’s shoes from the Ball, scuffed and a little worn down, but definitely the pair Ms Hofferson gave her. 

“Our son is looking for the woman he spent the night of the ball with” Queen Valhallarama says, and Astrid steps forward with the shoes. “Can every eligible woman in your house come to the shoes she left behind on. 

“They’re all here.” Aunt Huffnut lies and Tuff hisses, angry, about to stand up and yell but Astrid looks up and he ducks behind the railing, heart beating too hard. He grips the rail and peaks back out a moment later and she’s looking away again. Still, Tuff’s heart beats like he’s run a marathon. 

“Oh!” Fluffnut says, “it’s definitely me!” She sits on the floor, and reaches for the shoes. 

“How old are you?” Astrid asks, not unkindly. Tuff had commented at the Ball on how he’d forgotten that Fluffnut wasn’t as old as Aunt Huffnut made her out to be, and he had worried for her at the Ball. She must have remembered. 

“Excuse me?” Aunt Huffnut demands and Astrid looks up, handing the shoes that are obviously far too big. 

“How old is she? Fourteen?” Astrid asks, tone even, “you think the Prince spent the night with her? Why did you let her out of your sight?” 

“They’re my shoes,” Saffnut says, speaking over her mother’s indignant squawk. Fluffnut only hands her one shoe, still trying to prove they’ll fit her. 

“Sir Astrid,” Prince Hiccup says, “please just hold the most important shoes in the world to me. No need to make moral judgements.” Astrid salutes him, but it’s clear in her expression she’s displeased.

“They fit,” Saffnut says, her voice betraying her surprise. They do seem to fit, but when she takes the step in one she was given the shoe gapes at the side. “Oh, they don’t.” 

“Of course they don’t, because they’re mine.” Druffnut snorts, holding her hand out for the shoes. Saffnut bends to unbuckle it, encouraging Fluffnut to take the other shoe off too. 

“Move.” Ruff says. She looks like she’s going to push Druffnut, but she thinks better of it. “You all know he’s here for me, why wouldn’t he be?” 

“Ruffnut?” Prince Hiccup asks, voice high. They look at each other, and Ruff throws her arms around Prince Hiccup’s shoulders. Prince Hiccup catches her, wrapping his arms around her and hugging back. 

“It’s good to see you,” Ruff says. She lets go and hugs the man standing nearby, stuffy white collar and a few books in his hands. “You too Fishlegs.”

“Ruff!” Fishlegs smiles, one arm around her back. Ruff breezes past Astrid, ignoring her so easily it’s like she’s not even there. Astrid just watches her. 

“Aren't there questions?” Aunt Huffnut says, hands on her hips, “and you haven’t tried the shoes on.” 

“I think I know my own shoes,” Ruffnut sniffs, and Tuff doesn’t need to hide his smile hidden up the staircase, but he does anyway. Ruffnut toes the shoes on doing the buckle up with a quick flick of her wrist. “And obviously Sir Fishlegs is the ‘Legs mentioned, I’m not saying the joke in polite company and my dress is obviously in my room. We all know it’s  _ my  _ dress, after all you gremlins trying to ruin it.” 

“It’s not you.” Aunt Huffnut demands, her voice shrill and Ruffnut just ignores her, turning to go to the twin’s little attic bedroom. Prince Hiccup follows her, Sir Fishlegs behind him and the knights all step forwards insync. Prince Hiccup holds up his hand and they stop. 

“It’s alright,” Prince Hiccup says to his knights, “stand down. We’ll be back in a minute.” 

“I’ll protect him,” Sir Fishlegs says easily, and Ruff laughs, starting up the staircase. Tuff scrabbles to get up, but he’s too slow and Ruff grabs him by the arm as she passes, pulling him along. The Prince looks surprised, but he just smiles. 

“You’re the seamstress, yes?” Prince Hiccup asks and wide eyed Tuff nods. He doesn’t know what to say. The others definitely saw him. Astrid definitely saw him. 

“You made Hiccup’s gorgeous jacket too?” Sir Fishlegs asks, looking at Prince Hiccup with eyes Tuff can’t believe he’s allowed to make in public. 

“Part of it,” Tuff says, bewildered and they start the rickety little stairs up to the attic. 

“Ah, I thought so. Your hand work is so steady and neat.” Sir Fishlegs compliments, and confused Tuff looks at him, unsure if it’s a real compliment or a joke. 

“Hand work,” Prince Hiccup snorts, “you’d think it was a joke, but ‘Legs is always going on about lovely penmanship. It’s what happens to your brain when you’re stuck in a dusty old windowless room for hours and hours a day.” 

“You’d have to ask Astrid about Tuff’s hand work,” Ruff calls crudely, stepping into their room and going to her bed, where they had stashed the dress under the lumping mattress. 

“I didn’t,” Tuff says, flushed, annoyed. “I don’t.” 

“They’re both so  _ mean _ , I wouldn’t worry.” Sir Fishlegs laughs. He pats Tuff on the shoulder and it doesn’t really make Tuff feel any better. He follows them 

“The reason we came to help with the dress that you really don’t need help with is because we have something really important to ask.” Prince Hiccup says. He reaches out and grabs Sir Fishlegs’ hand, squeezing it nervously. 

“Yes I’ll be your beard.” Ruff says. 

“It’s a lot to ask, but we had so much fun with you and you even guessed we were together,” Sir Fishlegs continues, nervous and babbling, “so we think you’re perfect, but of course, it’s your choice. Hiccup’s parents are going to force him to marry anyway, and we hoping it would be with someone who understood.” 

“I said yes.” Ruff says, laughing. 

“Oh,” Prince Hiccup says. And then he beams, throwing his arms around Ruff in another hug. Ruff laughs even more, curling her arm around Sir Fishlegs too. She drops the dress, crumpled between her and both Prince Hiccup and Sir Fishlegs. Tuff looks at it, his masterpiece, ripped at the corner and dirty and they’re getting their happy ending but maybe without it. Astrid was right, and Tuff was wrong. 

“There’s one condition,” Ruff says, serious, pulling away to look at them with her exaggerated serious expression. Both men nod their heads seriously. 

“Anything.” Prince Hiccup promises, and Ruff could really say anything, anything at all, and Tuff thinks the Prince would give it to her. 

“Tuff comes to live with us too.” She demands. 

“Oh, is that all?” Prince Hiccup laughs, “I was going to make him come anyway.”

They troop back down the stairs, voices bright and loud, chatting away, the dress in Ruff’s arms and Tuff follows a foot behind. Ruff holds the dress up when they reach the bottom of the stairs, victorious in front of their cousins and Tuff stands there, quiet. He can feel Astrid’s eyes, the knights looking at him too and it's not the judgement he feared but it’s still uncomfortable. He doesn’t look at them, looking at the dress. Aunt Huffnut pales, her hands fisted and at least there is that. 

“Mama,” Prince Hiccup says, voice sickly sweet, “it’s her!” 

And that’s it. They troop outside to the royal carriages, the King and Queen in one, their knights on horseback. Prince Hiccup, Sir Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut in the other, the rest of the knights - Astrid, Snotlout, Eret, Heather and Dagur - on their own horses, escorting them back to the palace. Ruffnut is settled in Prince Hiccup’s room, or rather, they set up a shared room and each have their own room connected to it. Prince Hiccup shares his real room with Sir Fishlegs and Ruff gets to invite whomever she feels like to her’s.

And they live happily ever after. 

  
  
  


****

  
  


Or, rather;

Tuffnut gets a room far enough away from the others he feels like he’s in his own world, enough space to hold his own Ball and a window that overlooks the knights training ground. It’s not on purpose, he asked for a room with a lot of light to embroider in and the Head of the Palace, a large man named Gobber the Belch, gave him this one. He hadn’t realised until the next day, getting up from his dreamily soft new bed in his silken sleeping robes and looked out the window and he could see Astrid and Heather practicing their sword work. The room is otherwise nice, so he doesn’t complain, and after all, they live here too, he’s going to have to learn to exist in a world where he used to be dating Sir Astrid Hofferson.

The entire palace is very excited about the wedding, buzzing with excitement. They are still cleaning from the Ball, so privately Tuff thinks they ought to focus on one thing at a time. Ruff wants him to make her dress, and Prince Hiccup wants subtly matching outfits for himself and Sir Fishlegs, so at least there is something for him to do. He goes to the wise woman Gothi’s shop that Ms Hofferson took him to and buys white silk, white thread, pins and a few embroidery needles. Gothi uses her staff to pat at the tapestry of the night sky and Tuff recoils, paying quickly before leaving. 

Ruff is not a good model, she moves and talks and shakes her head whilst Tuff is trying to measure her shoulders. He forgot a measuring tape, so he made one from strips of an old tunic that the palace cleaners wanted to burn. It is not as good as a real measuring tape, especially with someone who moves whilst you’re measuring them. 

“I want you to walk me down the aisle.” She says very seriously all of a sudden and Tuff stops, pins between his teeth. She looks at him. 

“Da’s still alive.” Tuff says, stupidly. Of course she doesn’t want their  _ father  _ to walk her down the aisle, even at a fake wedding. 

“Da? I would rather die.” Ruff snorts, “King Stoick offered, but I don’t even know him. I know it’s a stupid fake wedding, but I still want it to be you.” 

“Okay,” Tuff says, but he doesn’t want to. Not because the sentiment doesn’t make him want to cry, to know that his sister thinks more highly of him than of a King, but because for some strange reason he thought he might be able to get out of it all. Sir Fishlegs is the Best Man, but the knights are the rest of Prince Hiccup’s wedding party. If he was marrying Sir Fishlegs, Astrid would be Best Woman. 

“I know Astrid is going to be there,” Ruff says, and she hops down from the stool to stand next to Tuff, eye to eye, “and I know you don’t want to see her, and I promise you don’t have to interact with her, but it’s just me and you. Us twins against the world.” 

“Okay,” Tuff agrees and then Ruff stands very still so Tuff can measure everything properly. He stays up until he can’t keep his eyes open, focusing solely on making the prototype for Ruff’s dress. He collapses into bed in the early hours of the morning and sleeps right through breakfast, and probably would have the rest of the day if Prince Hiccup hadn’t come for his own fitting session. 

“Tuffnut?” Prince Hiccup asks, “I’d let you sleep, but I’m kind of scared you’re not breathing. Ruff would marry me and then murder me for the crown if I let her brother die.” 

“Prince Hiccup?” Tuff asks groggily, rolling over and looking up. 

“Oh thank the gods,” Prince Hiccup says. “You really scared me. You look tired, shall we do my fitting later? I’ll let Fishlegs know you’re busy.” 

“No, no.” Tuff says. He probably couldn’t fall back to sleep anyway, thinking too much. “It’s okay. What kind of suit did you want?” 

Contrary to Ruff Prince Hiccup is a perfect model, standing precisely still as Tuff takes his measurements, scribbling things down. He doesn’t say anything rude, chatting politely and makes no awkward comments when Tuff has to take his inseam. Tuff wants to compliment him, but he thinks maybe this stillness is drilled into him from being treated like a thing all his life, so he doesn’t say anything. He’s very involved in the process, sitting with Tuff at Tuff’s desk as they go over patterns and ideas. Tuff is unbearably tired, but he is very grateful for Prince Hiccup’s distraction, for Prince Hiccup’s attempt to be friends. He says clothing design is very much an engineering project, which Tuff doesn’t totally get but Prince Hiccup is very happy to show him sometimes. There are plenty of books in the library, Sir Fishlegs can find Tuff anything he could ever possibly want to read in there. 

“How did you and Sir Fishlegs meet?” Tuff asks, curious and Prince Hiccup beams. 

“We’ve known each other  _ forever _ ,” Prince Hiccup says. He speaks of Sir Fishlegs with such softness in his voice and it’s nice. “It’s like one of those stories about realising everything you want is right there, at your feet. I used to chase dangerous boys, the thrill of something new, you know? But it wasn’t very satisfying and they were often more uptight about the whole gay thing than my parents. And ‘Legs just said something really sweet, and I was a little drunk off that bubbly fruit drink my mama loves so much and I kissed him.” 

“How sweet,” Tuff says, and to his ears he kind of sounds bitter, but Prince Hiccup smiles, and Tuff smiles back. He does mean it. 

“How did you and Astrid meet?” Prince Hiccup asks, smiling back and then, “Oh. Sorry. Ruff said I’m not allowed to ask about her. It’s funny, it seems only a week ago I was hearing her speak so highly of you. Hiccup, he’s so sweet and funny, he’s looking out for his sister - their family is terrible - and he’s such a hard worker, and doesn’t believe he deserves the kindness he gets. It’s criminal. ” 

Half way through Tuff opens his mouth to say it’s okay, it’s just, she lied about something very important but then Prince Hiccup’s words sink in and he stops. 

“I,” Tuff goldfishes, and then he looks away. “I feel very beneath her.” He whispers, not sure why he’s telling Prince Hiccup this, “and when I found out that you were gay, and Ruff’s dress was worthless; all the time and effort and panic that went into making it, I don’t even know if you  _ know  _ what I went through to make that dress. And, Astrid could have told me. She watched me struggle, watched my panic and worry, watched me break down when my cousins ruined it, and she never said anything. I just guess I just thought maybe you were laughing at me. Stupid Tuffnut, thinking he ever deserved to have his dreams come true.” 

Prince Hiccup is quiet for a very long time, and Tuff moves to stand by the window that looks out on the training grounds. Only a group of squires are out there, kicking a ball around. Eventually Prince Hiccup says, “That dress did catch my attention. It was due to you Ruff picked me.” 

“Ruff picked you?” Tuff asks, not looking at the Prince as he steps up beside him.

“Yeah, I think Ruff picks you rather the other way around,” Prince Hiccup laughs, “but without that dress maybe she wouldn’t have been so forward. I asked her to dance because I wanted to ask her questions about her seamstress, and when she told me she couldn’t dance I knew we were going to be friends, that she’d tell me the truth even if it hurts. Everyone wants to impress me, to cater to all my whims and I need people to tell me when I’m being stupid. I would have never asked her to dance if not for the dress, and we never would have become friends. You did have your dreams come true.

“Don’t be so hard on Astrid, if that’s all. She’s never said a bad word about you,” Prince Hiccup adds, “I think she thinks the opposite. That she’s beneath you. She lied to protect me, but she wanted to tell you. She was right, in the end. Sometimes she can’t see why being right in the end isn’t always enough.” 

“It still hurts.” Tuff puts his head in his hands, still staring out the window even when Prince Hiccup gives him a funny little half hug. 

“I know, that’s okay too.” Prince Hiccup agrees. 

They stand there for several moments, Tuff digesting everything that Prince Hiccup said. It’s hard, and it kind of doesn’t make sense and he’s probably going to ruminate on it for days so he pushes it aside. Maybe he’ll speak to Ruff, or even one of the knights, maybe Dagur and Heather and get to the bottom of their story, understand their forgiveness. 

“I can send her on a quest.” Prince Hiccup says. He puts his head in hands much like Tuff is and it makes him look wistful, longing. Suddenly aware of how he looks Tuff stands up and turns away from the window. 

“You don’t need to send Astrid on a quest because she upset me.” Tuff says. He thinks of Ms Hofferson alone in her house, without Astrid’s help, worrying about if her daughter is going to be okay. They might have lied to him, but in the end, he loves them. 

“That’s what I normally do when she upsets me.” Prince Hiccup shrugs. 

“When Astrid upsets  _ you?”  _ Tuff scoffs, half a laugh and Prince Hiccup makes a wounded face. 

“She’s so  _ stubborn _ , always doing what she thinks is right and best, and sometimes I don’t like that.” Prince Hiccup complains, “Like, I need people who tell me I’m stupid when I’m being stupid, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it! And she’s so blunt. She could say things a little bit nicer, you know?” 

Prince Hiccup looks at him so seriously, frowning and Tuff looks at him, can’t help the smile that’s threatening his expression. The both of them burst into laughter. Prince Hiccup throws an arm around Tuff’s shoulders and directs him away from the window, still laughing and they go back to the design of his suit. Later, Sir Fishlegs joins them and they talk about wedding clothes until it doesn’t feel so horrible to have to go to it anymore. 

One of the best things about the palace, other than soft bed and nice clothes and good food, is the farmyards. There are hundreds of chickens, multiple different breeds from large layers to teeny, tiny bantams and the person in charge of them doesn’t say anything if he comes across Tuff sitting with them, a chicken curled in his lap. Other workers don’t mind either if he helps to feed the pigs and the geese, or if he talks to the cows when he rakes up hay. The team that tends the vegetable patch smile when they see him, buying him his own watering can and tools. When he’s not working on the wedding clothes he goes to help in the gardens, with the livestock. 

The biggest excitement is the horses, rows and rows in the stables. Some are the King and Queens, but a lot are the knight’s and at first Tuff is tentative, afraid to see his friends but for some reason he manages to avoid them. He helps the stable hands brush down the horses and keep them fed, and sits in the barn chatting to them and to the mice that make little beds in the spare hay and eat the spare feed. If the stable hands knew quite how many mice there were they’d put out baits and poison, so Tuff keeps quiet, sharing bits of cheese and handfuls of grain with them. The first time he sees Astrid in the stables he stops, ducks down behind the stall door and the horse he’s with, an old stallion called Shattermaster who loves it when Tuff shares his crusts off his sandwiches, whinnies. He wants another crust, or is worried about Tuff’s weird, shaky movements.

“You alright boy?” Astrid asks, her voice very quiet and oh, Tuff still thinks the world of her. He prays she doesn’t come into the stall. She stands over him, holding out some sugarcubes and gratefully Shattermaster digs in. He comes close, and for a moment Tuff thinks he’s about to be squished but Shattermaster just stands over him, blocking the view and knocks a bunch of sugar crystals over Tuff. A whole cube drops, hitting Tuff on the head and he picks it up, looking at it until Shattermaster stops feasting. Tuff doesn’t get up until he can’t hear a single footstep for at least five minutes. 

The second time Astrid is brushing a horse, the one Tuff remembers from that very first day and she looks kind of,  _ tired.  _ Astrid is whispering to it, her voice even and the mare’s whinny doesn’t sound right. Tuff steps closer, quietly, and he knows Astrid knows he’s there, but she doesn’t look up. Maybe she’s trying not to spook two scared animals. 

“Is she okay?” Tuff asks, quiet. 

“Stormfly?” Astrid asks, stroking her mare’s neck with her free hand. “She’s a beautiful old girl. She’s just a bit tired, but that’s expected after a quest. Sleeping on the road is never the same as sleeping in your own bed, and it’s tougher when you’re older.”

“Oh.” Tuff says. He hadn’t seen her in a while, but he thought it was luck, careful movements to not cross paths. He didn’t know Prince Hiccup had really sent her on a quest. 

“Hiccup must like you a lot,” Astrid says, soft, going back to brushing her horse’s neck with a big hand brush, “he usually only sends me on a quest when he’s pissed off at me. He must think very highly of you.” 

“Like me like Snotlout?” Tuff asks, careful. Prince Hiccup has been unbearably nice and the way Astrid says it makes him pause. 

“Maybe.” Astrid laughs, it’s quiet like she’s not sure if it’s allowed and makes Tuff feel bad. “But you know, he’s always been absolutely gone on Fishlegs. Since they met, in the dark recesses of the Royal Library, Hiccup was looking for a book on magic potions. It’s always been the two of them.” 

Tuff doesn’t know what to say. It’s been a week since he spoke to Prince Hiccup about the first meetings, about Astrid and maybe he’s not angry anymore. “Prince Hiccup just told me he’s always known Sir Fishlegs.”

“Yeah,” Astrid agrees, “just the two of them, peas in a very particular pod.” Tuff nods, and it’s all too much so he turns to leave, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Tuff?” Astrid calls, and Tuff can’t help himself, he looks back, “it was nice to see you.” 

“Okay,” Tuff nods, “bye.” 

He doesn’t look back again until he’s in his room in the palace, shutting the door tightly. He can’t walk Ruff down the aisle, and stand opposite Astrid, looking at her the whole time. He’s weak, and pathetic and can’t get over it. 

He tells Ruff he spoke to Astrid, if that conversation even counts, and Ruff smiles at him, happy. She buys him a fluffy little chick, just a little isa brown that has a very high pitched cheep and he loves it. Prince Hiccup helps him build a coup in his room, removable floors for easy cleaning and he studies the books Sir Fishlegs brings him. Prince Hiccup is right engineering is like dress making, just the space is different and it doesn’t always matter that the pieces don’t move. 

“You spoke to Astrid?” He asks one day and Tuff misses the nail, hammer narrowly missing his thumb. 

“I saw her in the stables.” Tuff shrugs. “Did Ruff tell you?” Even if Chicken is a bribe, he loves it anyway. 

“No.” Prince Hiccup says. “Astrid was very happy you spoke to her. I think that quest did everyone good. Eret’s been very chipper for Eret.” 

“You didn’t need to do the quest thing.” Tuff says, but Prince Hiccup doesn’t reply, and doesn’t bring Astrid up again. Instead, once finished with chicken coup he sits down with Tuff and helps design a piece of everyday wear that he wants Tuff’s opinion on. 

Tuff goes to visit the horses that night, feeling brave and he nearly walks past Astrid sitting on a stone bench, tucked away in a little alcove. She’s sketching something in a little notebook and it’s only the brightness of the moon that makes it possible for her to see the pages. Maybe that’s why he actually managed to spot her. 

“Isn’t your mama worried about you?” He asks, and it’s funny, in the dark like this, that he feels as brave as he did the night of the Ball. It smells like wisteria, or maybe that’s just his memory of it all. 

“Maybe,” Astrid says, considered. “She’s used to it though. I normally stay out late, I was mostly coming home for dinner and for you.” 

“Oh.” Tuff says, and it feels like a sucker punch.  _ For you.  _ He turns and walks the rest of the way to the stables double time. He stays with the horses until he feels better and when he walks back Astrid is gone. 

He takes the long way back, wandering the castle grounds, and everything looks different in the dark. The moon is still bright, but a cloud is coming and he ends up somewhere he must have been subconsciously avoiding that in the dark he can’t tell where he is. It’s the avenue of wisteria, purple flowers still blooming, but the pathway is purple with them too. He stares for a moment, and then turns around and goes straight to bed. 

He feels better in the morning, and introduces Chicken to her brand new coup, beaming happily when she peeps excitedly, exploring. He goes to the farmyard to take a small amount of chicken feed and hears something when he’s coming back up the stairs. He turns down the corridor and almost walks into Heather sneaking out of Ruff’s room. 

“You lost?” Tuff asks. He means it as a joke but Heather looks at him like maybe he doesn’t know what she was doing. He decides to let her believe what she wants. 

“Nah.” She says. She doesn’t offer anything further so Tuff shrugs and moves on but then she calls out, “hey!” 

“Yeah?” He asks, tentative. Heather has never struck him as particularly verbose to anyone who she’s not very close to, so he’s kind of afraid of what she’s going to say. 

“You speak to Astrid again?” She asks, proving his thoughts and Tuff winces. 

“What’s this, an intervention?” Tuff asks, “you all seem very keen on making us talk.” 

“You know your sister talks a lot about you, right?” Heather says seriously. Everything that Heather says seems serious, but she leans in, so it seems especially so. “And I didn’t know you before Astrid, but Ruff said it was like seeing you before you lived with your Aunt. But like I said, I don’t know, maybe it was just the whole having a job thing and not anything to do with Astrid at all. Maybe that’s your problem? Go get a job selling fruits or something.” 

“My problem?” Tuff frowns. 

“Yeah. Your problem. You’re having philosophical questions with a knight doing a walk of shame from your sister’s chambers because even surrounded by the splendours of a palace you’re moping.” Heather reaches out and pats Tuff on the shoulder. “This isn’t an intervention, but maybe it should be. And you should talk to Astrid, even just to have closure.”

Instead Tuff begs Gustav to give him a job selling fruit at his mother’s fruit cart. It’s perfect, he knows Gustav, he knows Gustav’s mother and Gustav’s family and he’s been suckered enough times into buying shitty fruit from them he’s probably great at selling it. The plan is foolproof. 

“No way man,” Gustav says, “you’re cool and all. Like, the best guy I know, and yeah, we’re gonna be in Ruff’s wedding party together but I’m not giving you a job. You suck at handling fruit.” 

“Come on Gustav,” Tuff begs, he’ll get on his knees if he has to. “You don't even have to pay me. I’ll work for  _ free.  _ That’s a  _ steal _ , you get time off and you don’t have to pay me.” 

“What difference would it make if you tell everyone about the yellow dots and the apple worm? No one will buy anything.” Gustav frowns, “might as well just have a break without anyone selling anything.” And Tuff’s just about to go into a big spiel about how actually, he’s fantastic, and up-selling himself to show how he’s great at up-selling when there’s a cough. 

“Tuff?” Ms Hofferson’s voice calls out, and Tuff freezes. He turns and there she is, as homely as ever and Tuff feels his throat catch. 

“Ms Hofferson,” he says, and she doesn’t rush forward to give him a hug. It makes him feel bad, the restrained sadness on her face and he rushes forwards to give her a hug. Ms Hofferson holds him tight, dropping her basket and rocks him, murmuring soft reassurances. 

“Come for a cup of tea,” Ms Hofferson says, and Tuff could never say no. He doesn’t want to say no. He wants to go home. 

The Hofferson house is quiet, and the sunlight is just right and all the soft mornings and happy evenings and cups of tea come rushing back to him. This was his dream, the kitchen table with herbal tea and biscuits. It still feels like it is. 

“Are you okay, my boy?” Ms Hofferson asks, putting one of her famous sandwiches down in front of him and Tuff wants to devour it but it’s probably not polite to eat so fast. 

“I don’t know.” Tuff says. “I thought it would fix everything, being where we are, but I’m still broken.” 

“You were never broken.” Ms Hofferson says. “I know you’re mad at Astrid, and I want you to know that’s okay. I was mad when she told me, my stubborn, reckless girl. You can be angry at her, for your family, for your misfortune, she’s strong enough to take it. She’ll offer to take it all for you.” 

“You didn’t know?” Tuff says, the entire question stalling, unable to finish the sentence. He thinks of Astrid’s  _ it’s not my story to tell,  _ and the truth sticks in his throat too. It is not his story to tell. 

“I just thought Hiccup didn’t care much for the politics of marriage as a royal.” Ms Hofferson says. “He was always a persnickety kind of boy, stubborn too. Didn’t want to do things like his Da.” 

“Persnickety.” Tuff repeats and he looks down at his herbal tea and smiles. Ms Hofferson smiles too. 

“Would you like to do some embroidery? Your kit is still at the workbench, you’re welcome to take it home.” Ms Hofferson offers, hopeful, and Tuff smiles. 

“I think I would like to leave it here, if that’s okay.” Tuff says and Ms Hofferson smiles back. He sits in the window with her, doing some fine gold work on a black dress that’s for “happy couple” and it makes Tuff’s heart feel full to know Ms Hofferson is making Ruff a wedding gift. They work until the sunlight dims and the front door opens with a creak, Astrid stepping though. It’s time to be brave, he couldn’t be a fruit seller. 

“Astrid, can I speak with you?” Tuff asks. Astrid stops, like she hadn’t realised he was there. He supposes from this angle he’s behind the mannequin to her and when he looks she’s radiating a quiet joy. 

“Sure, Tuff.” She says, and stands patiently as Tuff packs up his embroidery kit, putting it back under the workbench. Ms Hofferson stands to give him another hug and a motherly kiss to his forehead. 

It’s fully spring now, but the air is still crisp as the sun disappears and Tuff shivers, not expecting it, not expecting to be out in the town at this time of day. Astrid offers her jacket, and well, he is weak, and the warmth of the material is too much of a draw. It smells like her, like the time he fell asleep on her bed, exhausted from working on Ruff’s dress. 

“Everyone wants me to talk to you.” He says. He wants to talk to her. He just doesn't know what to say. “And, they’re polite about it, but some aren’t. Heather told me to get a job.” 

“And what do you want?” Astrid asks, and it feels like the first time anyone’s wanted to know the answer to that. 

“Did you love me?” Tuff asks and it feels presumptuous because in the end, the time they had was short even if it feels like they’d spent years in the soft little world that was the Hofferson house. But what he  _ wants _ is the truth. He wants someone who’s not his sister to care about him as much he cares about them. 

“Of course.” Astrid says. And feels unreal, like maybe he’s dreaming it, maybe she heard the question wrong, like she doesn’t know what she’s saying but she’s Astrid. Even with everything about the dress she didn’t truly lie, she says the truth, she’s fearless. 

“I don’t believe you.” He says, and that’s a lie, but it’s the truth too. These things are tricky, maybe sometimes they’re the same thing, maybe it’s both. 

“That’s okay,” Astrid says, “you don’t need to believe it to be true.” 

Tuff turns, and walks away and he keeps doing it and maybe the problem isn’t Astrid and the problem  _ is  _ him. The problem is he doesn’t know how to be happy. It would be easy, to forgive, he’s done it before, to people who don’t deserve it. Ruff has told him a million times that Gruffnut will never change, but he still kept giving him second chances. When did he run out of them? 

When he opens his room door the next morning there’s a vase full of wisteria. He picks it up and a little card falls out. He picks up the card, but doesn’t read it, putting the wisteria on his desk. He sits and designs clothes, scribbling out dresses like Astrid’s midnight blue one, onces with embroidery like Ruff’s, pieces that look like tapestries on the walls. He makes and makes, sketching drawings and prototypes, sitting in the window where he can see the knights training and finishing up Ruff’s wedding dress, Prince Hiccup’s suit, Sir Fishlegs. He makes them matching handkerchiefs, their initials in little love hearts and Sir Fishlegs cries when he sees them. 

Ruff doesn't cry when she tries on her dress, because Ruff doesn’t cry, but it’s a near thing. He had to find the clothes from the ball, but he snips the buttons off and sews them on cuffs so they’re right there, and Ruff thumbs them, holding her arms together. 

“Mama would be so proud of you, you know?” She says and sometimes he wonders if all Ruff’s stories of their wonderful life when their mama was still there are even true. Perhaps, they had all been lies, false truths to give him hope. He doesn’t think so.    
“She’d be proud of you too.” He says and Ruff curls him into a hug. 

On the day before the wedding Tuff takes one last trip through all the decorations out into the town. It’s warm and breezy, and he has to drop a suit off to Gustav, so he takes the long way, meandering. Gustav is happy to see him, excited to be a part of such a fancy wedding and his mama is there, cooing over the suit and pinching Gustav’s cheeks. Tuff buys an ugly orange from them, excusing himself to run another errand but he takes his time walking, eating his orange. 

Eventually he ends up where he was meaning to, standing outside the Thorston house. He knocks on the door. It takes several minutes but Aunt Huffnut answers it. Just the person he was looking for. 

“Tuffnut?” She asks like maybe she’s forgotten his name, and Tuff never realised how frail and old she looked, relying heavily on her cane. “You coming crawling back? The royal family throw you out for fouling up their beautiful palace?” It’s funny, but he used to think maybe, just maybe she was right, that it could be true, but he’s not scared now. 

“I just wanted to tell you that tomorrow Ruffnut is getting married to the Prince and you’re not invited.” Tuff says. “Tell my Da, for me. That despite everything, despite the way you treated us, despite the chores and the pain, and trying to ruin my dreams you failed. I have a new chicken now, and I talk to her all the time and the royal family looks at me fondly. Ruffnut is going to be a Princess, and then a Queen and there will be Thorstons on the throne, but they won’t have anything to do with you.” 

He turns and walks away from the Thorston house for the very last time. 

He goes back to his room, sits in the window that overlooks the training ground and reads the card that was tucked into the wisteria. Everyday he’s received more flowers, bouquet after bouquet of what’s currently flowering in the palace grounds and it brightens up his room. He thinks of Astrid’s story, of the suitor and the flowers and the way she’d said it was  _ romantic  _ and she was right. Each time he opens his door and sees them, he feels like before, so bright and warm and happy. They sit amongst mannequins covered in clothes and ideas, and he feels full. 

Ruff wakes him early the next morning, chittering loudly. He’d put the suits in Hiccup’s room, but Ruff sits in Tuff’s room as ladies-in-waiting brush her hair and braid it, flowers in the neat little plaits and rouge on her cheeks. Tuff steps into the bathroom to put on the suit Ms Hofferson sent, packaged in a box and midnight blue the ball tunic, except this time he’s the constellation, stars sparkling across his shoulders. When he steps back out the ladies-in-waiting are gone, and Ruff’s all done up in her dress. It’s simple, understated, sleeves of lace and covered in delicate white work that Tuff hours and hours. Pinned to the top of her head, naturally tucking into her hair in a decades old piece of lace that’s a family heirloom of Prince Hiccup’s, a tiara of sparkling silver. 

“Are you ready?” Tuff asks, and Ruff smiles. 

“Are you?” Ruff replies, and it doesn’t matter because it’s time, but he is. 

A spring wedding, Queen Valhallarama had declared when they were organising it, must be outside, and so outside it is.Tuff holds his arm out, and Ruff links her fingers into the crook of his elbow and they step out as one. There’s a whole band playing, and an audience of royals from near and far and at the end of the aisle Prince Hiccup, shoulder to shoulder with Sir Fishlegs. When they reach him, tears in his eyes, tears in Sir Fishleg’s, Ruff squeezes his arm and lets go herself, reaching over to take Prince Hiccup’s hand. Sir Fishlegs steps back, and Tuff steps into place too, behind Ruff and he thinks maybe Sir Fishlegs should have stood this side so he could look at Prince Hiccup’s face, pretending it’s him standing there. 

Maybe later, they’ll throw a smaller wedding so Prince Hiccup and Sir Fishlegs can get their wish, their own cake and their own clothes. Tuff thinks about the clothes he could make for that, of a white worked suit, and then, if maybe Ruff and Heather would like that to. Ruff hasn’t said anything, beyond her obnoxious flirting, but Tuff’s seen Heather leaving her chambers far too many times. Maybe they’ll all get what they want, in the end, even in secret. 

And what does Tuff want? Tuff looks over at Prince Hiccup’s wedding party, and Astrid is already looking at him. He smiles at her, small, crooked, real. She smiles back. 

And now they really do live happily ever after. 


End file.
